


Fuck the Lions...Fear the Sheep

by horatiofrog



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Clay is in serious trouble, Found Family, Friends as Family, Friendship, Gen, Justin steps up, Suspense, Teamwork, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 75,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horatiofrog/pseuds/horatiofrog
Summary: Justin's past actions have made him some serious enemies...and they've come back to collect, taking Clay as collateral.  Can Justin and the rest of the gang manage to find Clay in time before tragedy strikes?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Destiny Which Makes Us Brothers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14782280) by [Bitterblue33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitterblue33/pseuds/Bitterblue33). 



> Warnings for this chapter: strong language, minor depiction of violence.
> 
> I've been writing in tandem with Bitterblue33's "A Destiny Which Makes Us Brothers" series, and this fic will refer to that work quite a bit. I recommend you read that, though it shouldn't hinder anyone from enjoying this fic too much.
> 
> For those of you awaiting a Seth fic, here's my answer. Updates will be as time permits (alas, I am a busy woman). I hope you enjoy!

**April 19**

Outside the little coffee shop, Seth seethed.  There he was, Amber’s little fucking bastard, sitting there in the window liked he owned the place.   Thoughts of charging the joint and strangling the life out of the fucker entertained themselves briefly in the back of his mind, but he was smart enough not to act on them.  The kid had stolen $2500 from him – a good chunk of a week’s wages, wages that had been earmarked for suppliers – and skipped town or wherever the fuck until this moment.  Seth thought fleetingly of Amber, the skinny, tweaked-out bitch, who’d been good for a fuck and a quick roof over his head until she skipped out too.  He’d had feelers out for her for weeks, with no hits yet. 

Seth snorted.  The bitch was probably dead.  Not that he cared. 

No, what mattered now was getting what was his out of that ungrateful little motherfucker sitting in front of him, oblivious to his presence.  Seth hadn’t been able to attain the level of prominence in his chosen profession by acting stupid.  The kid didn’t have a pot to piss in.  And while kicking the ever-loving shit out of him would feel satisfying, it wouldn’t restore his cash or his position among the local distribution hierarchy.

The unkempt man sat, watching.  A little reconnaissance was in order.

\---

**November 17**

“What’s got you so jumpy, Jensen?” Justin Foley asked, eyeing his adoptive brother skeptically.  “You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Clay Jensen stared off into the darkened bushes that created a perimeter around the Liberty High School parking lot.  “It’s…it’s nothing.”

_“Nothing,_ my ass.  You’ve been doing it for a week straight.”  Justin paused.  “Hey,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.  “You’re not…y’know…?” The skinny young man halted, his blue eyes looking expectantly at his friend and now-relative.

“Seeing dead people?  Hallucinating violent shooters out of thin air?”

Justin shrugged.  “When you start acting all fucking out of it, I think of that night at Bryce’s pool house.”  He shivered, partly due to the damp weather.  It had rained off and on all that week.  “I don’t never wanna see that again.”

“Nice use of the double-negative there, Justin.”  Clay smiled, a thin smile.

“Seriously, Clay.  What gives?” He pulled open the driver’s side door and got in.  The Jensen’s had bought the car for Clay – ironically, the same day their son had smuggled his homeless, heroin-addicted classmate into his bedroom.  How Clay had managed to pull that off for a solid week still baffled Justin to no end.  Once Justin had become part of the family, they simply shared the Prius, the same as they did the bedroom that had been Clay’s the first sixteen years of his life.  Again, that baffled Justin.  Mr. Jensen – _Matt_ – had offered to turn his downstairs office into a second bedroom, figuring that the boys wouldn’t want to share living space.  Both boys had turned him down flat.  For Justin, it was a no-brainer.  He liked being around Clay.  Plus, someone needed to look after his over-analytical ass.  He marveled at Tony’s use of the term “Clay-hole” when the kid got like that, finding it fitting.  He worried that was where Clay was headed now.

Clay shook his head, and ducked into the passenger seat.  “I dunno.  I just…” He shrugged.  “I keep getting this feeling…like someone’s been out there, watching me.”

Justin’s eyebrows furrowed.  “Watching you?  Like, how?”

“Jesus, I don’t know!”

“Like Tyler Down, with his camera, that sort of thing?”  Justin fell silent at the mention of the young man, who was currently in a long-term psychiatric residential program. Christ, if he’d known just how fucked up the kid’s life had been, how much Monty and Bryce’s bullshit had taken a toll…

“No.”  Clay’s voice broke his reverie.  “Like there’s honest-to-God eyes staring at me.  It’s creepy as fuck.”

“Well, your parents are waiting for us at home,” Justin said, trying to get Clay’s mind off the odd encounter.  “And I know for a fact there’s pizza waiting for us.”

Clay smiled.  “They’re _your_ parents too, now.”

The smile crept onto Justin’s face slowly.  It was still surreal, being a part of a real, live, _functioning_ family.  He still couldn’t believe these people had decided to take a chance on him by making him one of theirs.  It was, for him, an unbelievable honor.  It also felt like a good kind of debt – the kind that never needed repaying, though you always felt like you should.  It was _so_ much different than the debts he was used to, like the once Bryce fucking Walker kept. 

He finally understood what Jess was trying to tell him, all those months ago, after his world fell apart from his own fuck-up.  The Bryces of the world wanted to own you; they gave in accordance to how much it made them look good or how much it could help themselves in the long run.  The Clays, the Tonys, the Zachs and Alexes of the world?  They wanted to help because it was the right thing to do.  They gave because they felt you deserved it, with no strings attached.  Or, in Clay’s case, few strings attached; admittedly, he’d only went looking for him to get ammunition against Bryce and the fucking joke of a school culture he himself had been a willing part of. 

Justin had learned his lesson.  It had been hard taught, and slow to learn, but he did figure it out.  The rewards were so much better than he’d ever imagined.  He had friends – _real_ friends, not just “boys” that would only cover for him to save their own asses.  He had parents now that cared about him, not just a neglectful mother and the violently abusive boyfriend-of-the-month. Best of all, he had a brother – an unlikely one, to be sure, but one who had his back through thick and thin all the same.

“Yeah,” he said, the smile creeping across his face.

A flash of lights startled him as he put the car into gear.  “The fuck…?” he said, turning in his seat.

“The hell?  What’s going…”

The back of the car jolted, the thunderous _crash_ as metal and plastic collided deafening. “Jesus, fuck!” Justin swore, mentally checking himself over.  No broken bones, but the whiplash was gonna be killer.  “You all right, Clay?” he asked, eyeing up his brother.

“Fine, I’m fine,” Clay said, his hands shaking a little.  “The hell was that?”

“Some asshole rear-ended us.”

“In a school parking lot, at seven o'clock at night?”  It was a fair point.  The pair were the last to leave after a thrilling basketball game in which Justin had been the star player.  He'd managed to pull a win from out of nowhere, and the crowd had gone nuts.

Justin half-shrugged his shoulders as he slowly got out of the car.  “You ever seen a sophomore drive?”  He turned towards the other car, an old yellowish-gold sedan.  “Hey, watch where you’re going next time, asshole!”

Just then, a black masked figure jumped out of the smoking remnant that was the sedan.  Justin tried turning on his heel towards the open door of the Prius, knowing somehow that _this would not end well_ if the guy caught up to him.  Footsteps clapped against the cement, and a flash caught Justin’s eye as a second figure yanked open Clay’s door.  Unfortunately, Clay had just been about to get out to help Justin before his assailant struck.  “Jesus, fuck, let _go_ of me, asshole!” the older boy shouted, fighting as best he could against the man’s iron grip.

It was the gun that stopped both boys cold.  Justin’s heart lurched into his stomach as he saw the muzzle resting forcibly onto Clay’s temple. Tires screeched nearby, and Justin watched helplessly as his brother was shoved into another car and spirited off into the night.

“What the fuck?!  Where the fuck are you taking him?!” Justin roared, his jolted muscles tightening as he turned to face the masked driver.  “What the hell do you want, motherfucker?!”

“I want what’s owed me, dickhead,” the masked figure said, in a voice Justin vaguely remembered.  “And you’re gonna pay in full.”

“I don’t owe you anything, asshole.”  Justin stood his ground, knowing full well that he probably wouldn’t be able to fight his way out.

“Oh, you owe me.  And you’ll pay up.  Thought you could start over, everything wiped clean?  I don’t think so, bastard.”

Justin was clueless.  Sure, there were a few people that hated him; even a couple that would resort to violence against him, perhaps, but Clay?

_Okay, bad comparison.  Clay’s pissed off more than his share of people too._

That was when the first blow struck.


	2. Chapter 2

**November 17, near midnight**

“Matt, this is ridiculous.  Those boys _knew_ that we had dinner waiting.”  Lainie Jensen was bordering on furious.  It wasn't so much that her boys had missed dinner that she was upset.  As misguided as her children could be sometimes, they were not intentionally cruel -- especially Clay.  Especially after all of the other hurdles that had come their way the last few months:  the Baker trial, Justin's detox from heroin, both of the kids in therapy for various issues...  She _insisted_ on a phone call if either of them knew they were going to be late, or their plans changed.  It was a non-negotiable point.

Matthew Jensen sighed.  His hand cradled his forehead, a sure sign of exasperation.  Since the summer, both Clay and Justin had been doing better…or so he thought.  Sure, there were still hiccups:  both of them still had their secrets, and the onion layers that made up Justin Foley were tough at times to peel away, but his teenagers were at least more open about things.  Or so it seemed.

“Lainie, let’s not jump to any conclusions.  There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.”

“Both of them have phones.  Both phones work, Matt.  How hard is it to expect _one_ of our sons to be responsible enough to follow  _one_ simple rule and _call_ when they are going to be late?”

A frazzled head shook.  “The game could have run late.  They could have had car trouble and are getting one of their friends to help them.”

“The game was supposed to end at seven.  It’s almost _midnight._   And yes, I know we gave them a longer curfew, but still…”  Lainie Jensen paced the floor of the front hall, her whole body tense with worry.  “And now with Clay being eighteen…if they _are_ in trouble, Matt, it might take longer to get them help!”

“I don’t think it’s _that_ bad, Lainie.  We’ll give it another hour before we call the police.”

Fuming, Lainie resumed her pacing.  “Well, I’m calling Tony.  He’d know if there was anything going on with our boys, for sure.”

Matt nodded.  “And I’ll call Zach Dempsey.  Between the two of them, I’m sure we can get the word out we’re looking for them.”

Plans made, each of the Jensen parents reached for their phones.

* * *

 

“No, Mrs. Jensen, I haven’t heard from them.”  Tony Padilla gripped his phone a little tighter as the woman continued, her worry seeping into him.  “I can take a drive down to the school, see what’s up.  Chances are, they stopped off for something on the way home and lost track of time, right?”

_“Oh, God, I hope so.  Thanks, Tony.  Call us if you hear anything.”_

 

* * *

 

“No, Mr. Jensen, Justin’s not here.  Neither is Clay.  I know they left just after we finished the game…or, at least, I think they did.  I kinda got out in a hurry, being it was my sister’s birthday and all and we were headed for dinner…no, sir, I don’t know that they did.  Justin was looking forward to pizza, y’know, he loves that stuff.  No…yeah, okay.  I’ll spread the word.  Absolutely, Mr. Jensen.  Bye.”

Zach Dempsey set his phone down, his face tight with worry.

“Zach?  What’s wrong?”

The eighteen year-old looked down at his little sister May.  She seemed worried.  “It’s nothing,” he said, trying not to ruin her birthday.  “Couple of my friends didn’t make it home yet.”

“You’re worried.”  It wasn’t a question.

_How is it a twelve year-old is better at talking about this than my own mother?_   “Yeah.  You know what?  I’m gonna take a ride over to the school, see what’s up.  Soon as I make a couple of calls.”

“Be careful.”  May kissed him on the forehead.  “I’m going to bed.  Thanks for a wonderful day.”

Zach smiled.  It was one of the few things in his life that brought him joy:  making his sister smile.  Having his new, reformed set of friends was another.  Justin had always been a part of that, but now instead of self-centered assholes, there were good people – Jessica, Sheri, Clay, Tony and especially Alex – to join them. It seemed odd that it had been Hannah Baker to bring them together, considering how disparate they all were.  Now, Zach couldn’t imagine hanging out with and depending on anyone else.

He reached for his phone as he picked up his keys with his other hand.  “Hey, Alex, it’s me.  Be outside your place in ten minutes.  Yeah, no one’s seen Justin or Clay in hours.  We’re going looking for them.”

 

* * *

 

“Mom, for like the millionth time, Zach’s picking me up.  We’re going looking for some friends.”

“Some friends?  Which friends?”  Carolyn Standall stood in front of her son, arms folded.  For being a petite woman, she sure did know how to exude authority, at least in Alex’s opinion.

Alex sighed.  “Justin and Clay.  They were supposed to be home hours ago.  Their parents haven’t heard from them.  No radio contact.”

“So this means you have to be traipsing about in the middle of the night looking for them?”  His mother _tsked_ her tongue, a sure sign of concern.  “Couldn’t you just talk to your father about this?  I mean, if something’s happened…”

“Mom,” Alex continued, striving to remain calm and patient when he was fast approaching anything but. “How do you think Dad’s gonna take it if the guys just got caught up in something stupid?  Not life-threatening, not important, just…y’know, a couple of guys being late?”  Even as he said it, Alex couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.  Sure, Justin had a history of skipping out, for months even, but since the Jensens took him in, he’d been much happier to stay close to home.  Clay…well, he wasn’t shy about pulling all-nighters, but since most of the mess Hannah Baker had left had settled itself, he was a bit more responsible too.  Sure, Monty still wanted a piece of him, as he did the rest of the “gang,” as Jessica called their friend group.  Still, he knew for a fact that Monty hadn’t been at the game earlier that night.  He’d been in the stands, along with Jess, watching Justin score basket after basket to pull the win from behind.  Monty had been nowhere to be found.

_That might not be a good thing,_ Alex concluded to himself just as Zach appeared in the doorway.  “Ready to go?” he asked, the question directed more at his mother.

“Alex, I really think you should…”

“Mom, Clay’s eighteen now.  Sure, if something happened to Justin, we could call and get stuff done immediately, but Clay’s technically an adult.  I know the limits on missing persons.”

Carolyn shook her head.  “Go,” she said, waving her son and his best friend from the hall.  “Keep us posted, Alexander Standall!”

“I will, Mom.”  Closing the door behind him, he took his can in his good hand and inched towards the porch stairs.  “So, what’s the plan?  I called Jess and Sheri; they’re over at the Jensen’s house, helping them keep an eye out.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Zach mused, helping Alex down the stairs.  “I mean, we know Justin’s no stranger to skipping out.  And Clay…I mean, I heard he’s got some issues of his own.  All-nighters are not _that_ unusual for him.”

Alex confided his conclusions to his friend.  “Six months ago, hell, even a year ago; yeah, no one would be worried.  But we are where we are, and we know what can happen.  The Clay and Justin we know now don’t keep their parents worried over stupid shit.”

“Yeah,” Zach agreed, his voice quiet.  Alex struggled with the seat belt as Zach closed the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

“Tony?”

“Dempsey?  Standall?  The hell you doing here?”

“Mr. Jensen called me.  Told him I’d come and see what was up.”

The young Latino man shook his head, perfectly greased hair following suit.  “Yeah, Mrs. Jensen called me.  Me and Clay, we go back a long ways.”

“We know,” Alex said, smiling.  He then looked out at the gaggle of flashing lights before them.  “Someone break into the school?”

“I was about to find out,” Tony admitted.

The three walked over to the cordon of yellow crime scene tape.  Alex quickly recognized one of the men behind it.  “Dad!” he shouted, catching Deputy Bill Standall’s attention.

“Alex?” the man said, stepping outside of the crime scene.  “Zach, Tony…what are you doing here?  This is an active crime scene…”

“No, Dad, we know,” Alex soothed.

“We’re looking for Clay Jensen and Justin Foley, sir,” Tony replied.  “Their parents called us.  No one’s seen them in hours.”  He was thanking the Virgin Mother that his probation was over and he’d kept on the straight and narrow as of late.  His new, rather odd friend group had helped.  Trust Clay Jensen to drag his ass into some crazy-ass thing with crazy-ass people that made him a better person, a better friend.  His relationship with Caleb also had something to do with it.  Unfortunately, Caleb was out of town at a boxing convention, and Tony hadn’t been able to join him.  _I’ve missed enough time in school, amor,_ he’d told him, kissing the daylights out of the man.  _If I wanna get anywhere, I at least gotta get the grades for trade school.  I was thinkin’ mechanic, maybe.  Custom stuff._

_I like the sound of that,_ Caleb had said.  _Do what you gotta do.  I’ll be here, waiting._

Deputy Standall’s face grew grim.  “What, Dad?” Alex ventured, gripping his cane tightly.

“Boys, Justin Foley’s at Mercy Hospital.  Someone worked him over, _hard._ ”  The older man bit his lip.  “He was found alive but unconscious when we arrived.”

Zach’s hand flew to his mouth.  Tony’s hands curled into fists.  “And Clay?  What happened to Clay?  Is he at Mercy too?”

A hat-covered head shook slowly.  “We don’t know where Clay is.  He wasn’t at the scene.”


	3. Chapter 3

**November 18, just after midnight**

The first thing that Clay registered upon waking was that he had an excruciating headache.  It took him a moment to open his eyes, and another to get them to focus.  He was lying on something hard and unforgiving, giving him awful kinks in his battered back.

It was dark.  There were rays of what looked like moonlight shining through a boarded-up window.  Clay struggled to right himself, and when he put his feet down he noticed that they were bare.  No socks, no shoes.  Struggling to keep his balance and fighting the aches, pains and the pounding headache, Clay gingerly reached out in hopes of finding a door.  It took ages, but he managed to find one directly across from the hard countertop-thing that he’d woken up on.  Not surprisingly, it was locked.  Clay pulled at the doorknob, hoping it would break or give even a little, but the door was stuck fast in its space.

_No getting out that way,_ he thought.  He inched his way towards the boarded window that sat to his left.  Determined hands pulled at a couple of the boards, only to find they were stronger than they appeared.  Barring a meticulous fire, or a miracle, there was no escaping this little room tonight.

_Well, fuck my life._    The young man strained to hear anything coming from outside his prison:  birds singing, voices carrying, the grating sound of metal scraping from brakes, or even a car horn. Nothing.  Clay swallowed thickly.  _Is this what it’s like, to be in a tomb?_

The door jerked suddenly, and a rush of murmured voices made themselves known.  In the doorway stood a thin, imposing figure.  Clay squinted against the harsh light.  The man had wild, unkempt curly hair, a pointed jaw, and a permanent _don’t-fuck-with-me_ look across his face. The gun in his hand was also keeping Clay at bay.  He’d had enough of that sort of violence, and he didn’t trust he’d be as lucky as Alex if he were shot.

“Good.  You’re up.”

The door swung shut, before it even registered to Clay to fucking run for it.  He did manage to stay on his feet, though he fought like hell to stay upright.  “Where the hell am I?” the young man demanded, trying to looking convincingly pissed.  He was, but the pain was too much.  This was way past a Montgomery de la Cruz beat-down.   “What do you want?”

“I want cash, kid.  A lot of it.  And that bastard you hang with is gonna cough it up.”

Clay’s head spun.  Was this a joke?  “The hell are you talking about?” he spat, taking a step forward, trying not to show fear.  He was stupid like that, occasionally, which explained the beat-downs from time to time.  “I don’t have any money.  Neither does anyone I know.  Not anyone who’d pay, anyway.”

The man’s tongue clacked against his teeth.  The sound grated.  “Too bad for you.  I mean, I’ve seen your place.  Seems like your family does okay.  Lucky for you, you’re not worth millions to me.”

“Um, thanks, I guess?” Clay really wanted to avoid being hit again.  Normally, he’d have come out swinging, given some attitude, but something inside of him was telling him to play it safe for once.  “Then you won’t mind dropping me back home then?”

The man chuckled, a harsh sound that split the silence in the room.  “Funny.  Who would have thought that little fucker’d have a comedian for a friend?”

_I swear to God, if this is some asshole Tony pissed off somehow, I’ll kill him._ Even as he thought it, Clay pushed the idea from his mind.  Tony Padilla was nobody’s fool, nor was he a willing target, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to get tangled up in something this big.

“I’m sorry.  I got my bell rung a little upon arriving…which “little fucker” are you talking about?”  Clay had had enough of this asshole, and wanted to go home and sleep off the headache he was currently nursing.

“Foley, you stupid fuck.”  The man drew closer.  It took everything Clay had not to grimace at the man’s foul-smelling breath.  He was sure whatever teeth the idiot had left were actively rotting in his mouth.  “I ain’t as dumb as you think.  I know he got himself into a nice family.  I know he did a little time for fucking over that girlfriend of his.  But the little pissant _stole from me_ , and I’m gonna collect.”

_Justin.  Of course._   Clay gulped, and prayed it wasn’t obvious.  “O-okay,” he stammered, hoping against all hope he could do this right and not piss this asshole off further. The gun waving in the man's hand wasn’t helping matters.  “So, so he stole some money.  How much?”

The harsh chuckle graced his ear.  “Oh, we’re well past time for him to just return my money, kid.  Now…now there’s interest involved.  And given the way he’s always around you, I’m sure he’ll figure out just how to meet my price.  Y’see, he fucked up my business when he took my money.  Give him a couple days to heal up, and I bet he gets a nice collection going.  He’ll need it.  Or I’ll take it out of _your_ hide.”  Light brown eyes glittered in the dark, and Clay shivered at the sight.

The man strode towards the door.  “Don’t get any ideas about leaving, kid.  You did notice your feet when you woke up?”

“Yeah,” Clay said with more strength than he felt.  “My shoes aren’t worth whatever Justin took.”

“No, but this ain’t a place you wanna go barefoot, kid.  Might catch a used needle…or broken glass…or a rusted nail.”  He clacked his tongue again.  “Junkies.  Not exactly the neatest of people. And for sure you ain’t going anywhere if your feet are fucked up. Which, I promise you, they will be if you try running far.”  He turned towards the door.  “Get comfortable.  Or else I’ll have to get nasty.”  He wiggled the gun, throwing a bone-chilling look in Clay’s direction.

_Like you haven’t already._ Clay wondered if this wasn’t Justin’s mother’s…boyfriend?  Ex-boyfriend?  …the guy that was the reason he’d been homeless before the Baker trial.  “Hey,” he asked, daring to raise his voice.

“What?” The tone was menacing.

“You never said.  How much _am_ I worth?”

“$250,000.”  At Clay’s astonished look, he added, “Like I said, interest.  But I’m not greedy.”  The door slammed behind him, and the sound of a lock clicking sealed Clay’s fate for the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**November 18, 1:30 am**

The sound of machines gently beeping rang in Jessica Davis’s ear.  She was sitting vigil, staring at the mottled face of the young man she’d once thought she’d spend the rest of her life with.  So much had transpired over the last year – it seemed a blur to the girl.  There were only two things she knew for certain:  she could never completely forgive him for what he’d done to her, and she couldn’t bear not to have him be a part of her life, even tangentially. They’d settled into the comfortable and familiar role of close friends, and for that she was grateful.  Jessica brushed back a tear as she thought of how much Justin had overcome to get to the “happy ending” he had suffered and sacrificed so much for.  _Don’t let this take it away from him,_ she thought sadly.  _He deserves so much more._

A throat cleared, and Jessica looked up to see a lithe figure standing in the doorway.  Sheri Holland had been pacing just outside the door, keeping an eye on the Jensens as they spoke to both medical and legal professionals just down the hall.  “Any news?” Jessica ventured, trying to mask the rough, teary tone in her voice.

Long hair shook as Sheri slumped into a hard plastic chair.  “Nothing.  Alex says their car was rear-ended; probably what let whoever the fuck did this get their hands on our boys.”

_Our boys._   It seemed a funny thing to think when she thought of Clay Jensen.  The quiet, geeky kid from sophomore year had turned into one hell of a quiet, determined badass.  There were whole social groups at Liberty High that would dive for cover now when they saw him coming; especially if they thought they were getting away with something.  Clay had developed a reputation for getting to the bottom of social injustices, and the whole Hannah Baker ordeal had just been the tip of the iceberg.  The difference now was that Clay didn’t have to fight those battles alone.  For as different as they were, Justin usually was the first one to have Clay’s back, and the rest of their friends often found themselves investigating right along with them.

_Come on, Justin,_ Jessica pleaded silently.  _Wake up, now.  Clay’s counting on you.  We’re all counting on you._ “So, what?” she said aloud.  “Someone caused the accident on purpose?”

Sheri shrugged.  “Looks like.”

The robotic _beep_ of the heart monitor was beginning to annoy the young woman.  “It’s a miracle Justin’s not worse off,” she said quietly, looking over the assortment of bruises and bandages that covered the seventeen year-old lying in the hospital bed next to her.  “The doctors told Mr. and Mrs. Jensen that all this will heal in a few days.  They’re just worried about the blow to the head.”

“Brain damage?”

Jessica shrugged.  “More like if he’ll remember what happened.”  She exhaled sharply.  “Which we need now more than ever, seeing as he was the last person to see what might have happened to Clay.”

Sheri steepled her fingers underneath her chin.  “You don’t think…?”

“What? That _Clay_ did this?  Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

Hands flew into the air as a sign of apology.  “Girl, I know.  I know.  But you know someone out there’s gotta be thinking that.”

Just then the Jensens came through the door, looking worried.  “Hi, girls,” Mrs. Jensen said, taking the seat next to Jessica.  The woman gingerly picked up Justin’s hand and laced her fingers through it, a small, tight grimace of a smile on her face. 

“Any news?”

Mrs. Jensen shook her head.  “The police are looking for witnesses, but so far nothing.”  Her voice was cracking, and Jessica knew she was trying to keep it together for both her and Sheri’s sakes.  “You girls don’t know if there was anything going on at school, would you?  Something the boys wouldn’t have told us?”

Sheri shook her head.  Jessica did likewise.  “You know Clay – when he’s on a mission, there’s no stopping him.  But lately, things have been pretty quiet.”

“No problems, then?” Mr. Jensen chimed in.

Sheri turned her shoulder towards her ear.  “Well, there’s the thing with Monty…”

“Sheri!” Jessica hoped that her look was enough to shut the young woman the hell up.

“What thing?” Mrs. Jensen’s eyes brightened all of a sudden.  Her grip on Justin’s hand tightened a little more.

“Same sh- I mean, same stuff as before.  Monty’s still pissed about all of us breaking up the baseball team from last year.” 

“Because of Bryce Walker.”  The older woman’s eyebrows furrowed.  Jessica could see where Clay got his determination from.

“And how is that Clay’s fault?  Or any of yours, for that matter?” Mr. Jensen asked.  It was clear he was trying not to snap at the girls, but the frustration was becoming evident on his face.

“Well, Clay was pretty determined to make Bryce pay for what happened to Hannah…and me,” Jessica explained.  “Between him and Alex, I’m not sure which one Monty hates more.  Plus he’s pissed at Justin for pointing the finger at Bryce.”

“Does he have a car?”

“I…I think so.  I couldn’t tell you what he drives, though.”  Jessica glanced over at Sheri.  “Do you know…?”

“Nope.”

Lips tightening into a thin line, Mrs. Jensen squeezed Justin’s hand, stood up, and strode purposefully out the door.  “Where’s she…?” Jessica started before being interrupted.

“At this point, any lead is useful.” Mr. Jensen pulled his chair closer, careful to give the girls their space.  “But until Justin wakes up, all we can do is clutch at straws, I’m afraid.”

Jessica suddenly had an idea.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings this chapter: Montgomery de la Cruz, slight homophobic language.
> 
> I try to keep the characters as true as I can in my fanfic writing, and we all know Monty's not that...enlightened. I apologize.

**November 18, 1:45 am**

“Wait, what?”  Alex fumbled with his phone, jabbing at the speaker button with his good hand. 

_“We were talking with the Jensens…what if this is Monty, guys?”_

“Hold it.  Montgomery de la Cruz, resident ax-crazy dickhead at Liberty?”  Tony’s head turned back towards the backseat of his classic Mustang, where Alex was holding court.

_“Yeah.”_

“Jess has got a point.  I mean, Monty’s made it no secret he’d like to see most of us die horrible deaths if he could arrange it.”  Alex’s mind began to spin.  “Ever since Bryce transferred out and the baseball team broke up.”

“The baseball team broke up because half of them were facing, like, three kinds of assault charges,” Zach said.  “I’m serious.  I think me and Scott Reed were like the only ones who weren’t assholes.”  He paused a moment.  “Guys, his old man’s used him as a punching bag more than once.  You don’t think…?”

“Given what he told me when he ditched me that one day, I’d say Monty thought baseball was his ticket out,” Alex concluded.  “And he knows he’s not quite good enough to nail a scholarship without a championship under his belt.”

“He’s not,” Zach confirmed, drumming his fingers nervously on the dashboard.  “Good utility player, but most schools look for stars and solid starters.  Monty’s neither.”

“Says to me maybe we need to pay a visit somewhere,” Tony concluded.  “Anyone know where we can find the little fuckhead?”

 

* * *

 

The batting cages were Monty’s home away from home.  With every swing, he felt more confident about things, even if what ailed him was far out of his control.  Of late, every ball he sent flying through the air had a name attached.

_Clay Jensen._   Little fucker didn’t know when to quit when he was ahead.  His determination to find the truth was the reason his one chance to escape this pissant town fell apart.

_Jessica Davis._   Pointing fingers where she shouldn’t.  Little bitch had to open her mouth.  She could’ve had it good, been one of the elite.  But no.  She had to send his world crashing right along with her own.

_Alex Standall._   Gay fucker.  _Crippled_ gay fucker.  Couldn’t even off himself right, but couldn’t let ‘doing the right thing’ go.  He thought of beating the kid senseless, that time before the coward tried to eat his daddy’s gun.  The memory made him smile.

_Zach Dempsey._   Asshole was too noble for his own good.  Cowardly fuck.

_Justin Foley._  The turncoat bitch.  After everything Bryce had done for him, he stands against him in court, points the finger? 

Monty stopped dead a moment, his swings taking the breath out of him.  It was Foley that pissed him off most of all.  Didn’t mind taking generosity from the boys, but turns against them because he decided to grow a pair after running off?  _Bullshit._   Another ball came sailing towards him, and he let it fly.  It pissed him off more that of all the boys, only Foley had had a worse home situation than he himself did.  It was the one thing he could hold up for himself; that at least he had it better than someone else…and then Foley got himself fucked up and noble, sending himself to jail and taking Bryce with him.  Only Justin Foley could fuck over that many people and get _rewarded_ for it by getting adopted into a better family.

Fucking Foley.  Fucking Jensen.  Fucking Davis and Standall and Dempsey.  Oh, there were others, but those ones were forever at the top of Montgomery de la Cruz’s shit list. 

The night chill began to sink into Monty’s bones, and he knew he would soon have to leave for the rough safety of the Hobo Hotel.  His old man had gone on a three-day bender and was looking for blood.  As he headed for the parking lot, the screech of rubber on asphalt startled him.

“Where the fuck is he, Monty?!”  The sound of Tony Padilla screaming at him in the dead of night was the last thing he’d ever imagined himself hearing.

“Where the fuck is who, faggot?”

“Monty, I wouldn’t,” another voice warned.  Monty scoffed.  Zach Dempsey, warning him?  Please. 

“Motherfucker, there are only so many people in the world I will _willingly_ commit murder for.  Clay Jensen is one of those people.” Padilla’s hands reached his throat, and Monty was finding it hard to breathe. “Now, you tell me where you stashed him and I _might_ let you live tonight.”

“Th..the f..fuck…?” Monty’s hands scrambled, trying to find the baseball bat he’d stashed in his bag.

“Someone beat Justin Foley senseless earlier tonight,” the thin, high voice of Alex Standall said, catching his rapidly waning attention.  “And Clay Jensen is nowhere to be found.”

Padilla let go of his neck, and Monty coughed up a lung.  He cackled.  “So what?  Goody Two-Shoes Jensen goes missing, and it’s suddenly _my_ fault?  Not that I wouldn’t give whoever disappeared him a medal.”

It was taking some impressive strength on Dempsey’s part to keep Padilla from lunging at him again.  “Monty, the cops are gonna be looking for you,” he yelled over the Latino’s angry cries. 

“For what?  I ain’t done shit!”

“Aggravated assault, for a start,” Standall said calmly, leaning in a little too close on that cane of his.  “Kidnapping, maybe?  Or foul play?  I don’t think _you_ could do time for murder, Monty.  Just tell us where Clay is!”

Monty stared out at these idiots surrounding him.  “I’ve been here all fucking night, assholes!  Check the goddamned cameras!”

“Cameras can be messed with.” It was taking Monty a supreme effort not to slap Standall where he stood.

“Like _I_ know how to do that shit?!”

_Scrape, clunk, scrape.  Scrape, clunk, scrape._ The sound of Standall’s footsteps grated in Monty’s ear.  “Hey, Zach, Tony,” the crippled kid called out.  “Look at the front of the car.”

Fuming, Padilla inched toward the vehicle.  “There isn’t a scratch on this,” he declared.

“Right.  If Monty’d done it, there’d be, like, at least some scratches or dents, right?  I’m…not much of a car guy, so…”

“Fuck!”  Padilla screamed into the night.  “Goddammit!”

Monty grinned wickedly.  “Gee, sorry you couldn’t find another scapegoat to blame, assholes,” he taunted.  “Give my regards to Foley and Jensen…if you can.”


	6. Chapter 6

**November 18 th, 2:30 am**

“What?!”

Alex shrugged, sliding gracelessly into the chair Jessica had just vacated.  “It’s not him, Jess.”

“It has to be!  Who else would…?”

“I’m telling you, I wanted nothing more than to beat the living shit outta that asshole,” Tony said, ending the argument.  The angry young man was fuming just inside the doorway of Justin’s hospital room, where the group had reconvened after their ‘chat’ with Monty.  “And for a good many things, but…”  He shrugged, the leather of his jacket rustling as he did.  “Standall’s right.  We got a look at their car before we got escorted off the scene.  Whoever hit them _really_ fucked up the front end of the other car.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing.  “But where was it?”

Zach’s head snapped up from the hole he was staring into the floor.  “Where was what?”

“The other car.”  Frail hands gripped a decorated cane with a renewed strength.  “It looked like the cops had just found the Prius.  Where was the other car?”

“I’m telling you, _if_ whoever the fuck drove it out of there, it _had_ to be a tank.  We’re talking older model, seventies, _maybe_ eighties sedan.”  Tony glared hard at Alex and Zach.  “Either of you two get a look at the back end of that Prius?”

“No,” Zach replied.  “Sorry.”

“I did, a little.  Hard to see in the dark, but I thought…”

“What?” Jessica asked.  “What did you see?”

“…I _thought_ it looked like there might be yellow paint on the car.  Or maybe gold.  Fuck, I don’t know!  Could’ve been the glare from the lights, for all I know!”

“Shit!”  Alex could see the anger rolling off Tony in waves.  Then the passionate teenager stared hard at the motionless figure lying on the bed in front of them.  “The fuck did you get him into, Foley?”

“Hey, back off,” Jessica snapped. 

“Look, I’m sorry.”  Tony glanced around the room at the people he called friends.  “I’m sorry.  I just…this is not gonna end well if we don’t get up off our asses and _do_ something!”

“Jesus.  And you’re usually the smart, collected one.”  Alex fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Shut up, Standall.” Tony flopped into the last available chair, holding his head.  “It’s different when…”

“We get it.”

Zach pulled out his phone.  “What’s up?” Alex asked.

“Well, I’m thinking we’re gonna need a little more help than just us.”

“I don’t trust _anyone_ else but us,” Tony said.  “And maybe the Jensens.”

“Agreed,” Alex seconded.  “The shit we’ve been through…”

“Look, I know.  But first we’ve gotta _find_ Clay.”  Zach began to text.  “I’m gonna start with Scott Reed.”

“A jock?  Are you fucking serious?!”

“No.  No, this works,” Alex argued.  “Scott’s one of the good ones.  Maybe the _only_ good one, after Zach.  Plus, jocks have connections, and we desperately need those.  Maybe someone saw Clay…or saw what happened tonight at the school.”

Understanding began to dawn on Tony’s face.  “Okay.  I get it.”  He dug through his jacket for his phone.  “I got that kid’s number…Cyrus, or something…Clay and him are cool.  He and his boys could help spread the word.”

“I got Nina.  She’ll help.” Jessica began texting furiously on her phone.

“The more we can get, the better,” Alex said.

“The more what?” a voice said, startling the group.  In the doorway stood Deputy Standall, an unreadable expression on his face.  “Guys, I need a minute with you.  Alex, Tony, Zach?”

 _Fuck_ , Alex thought.  _This is_ so _not what we need right now._ He made his way slowly towards the deserted waiting area where Zach and Tony stood, trying like hell to keep their expressions neutral. 

“I know you kids are up to something,” Deputy Standall said.

“Look, it’s not like that!” Alex cried.

“No, sir.  We’re not,” Tony said.

“I don’t know what…” Zach started.

A hand raised, and the boys fell silent.  “Right now, this is not the time to be keeping things from us, okay?  Clay Jensen may be in serious danger, and if you’re not telling us something…”

Alex shook his head vehemently.  “Dad, I swear, we’re not into anything this time.  This was a _complete_ surprise.  And…and I know we haven’t exactly told all of the truth about...about other things, but no one wants Clay found safe more than us.”

“And his parents,” Tony added. 

“We’re trying to figure out who might want to do something like this, Mr. Standall,” Zach said. 

“The Jensen’s mentioned you guys might be having some trouble at school?  The de la Cruz kid giving you problems?”

“Yeah, he’s a dick,” Alex said.  “And violent one.  But we just talked to him.  I don’t think he’s involved.”

“Plus, we got a look at his car,” Tony added.  “There’s no way it hit Clay and Justin’s car.”

“You know cars?”

Tony shrugged.  “Yeah, some.   I got a look at the Prius.  You’re looking for an older model sedan, seventies, maybe eighties.  Something built like a tank.  Not these newer plastic models.  It’s the only thing that could have caused that kind of damage and driven off.”

“Doesn’t take much to break a Prius, son.”

“That’s true.  But still, anything this century would’ve been left at the scene.  I’m sure of it.”

Deputy Standall sighed.  “Our crime scene guys came to that conclusion too, but they still have to follow up.  Now, what were you all up to in there?” he asked, pointing at Justin’s room.

“Oh,” Zach said.  “We were getting a hold of some others from school, maybe seeing if they could help.  Y’know, see if anyone saw anything at the school, saw what happened…maybe saw Clay at some point after the game?”

“Good idea.” His face softened a little.  “This is now a high-priority case, fellows.  In the morning we’re starting a canvass and pretty much doing the same thing you seem to have started.  If you find anyone who has information, I want to be the first call, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the three said solemnly.

“I mean it.  No going off on your own.  No hiding things.  Something’s going on here, and we’re well past high-school antics.  Keep us in the loop.”

“We will, Dad.” Alex promised.  “Thanks.”

“Can’t keep you kids out of it, can I?  Right now, it’s not like we have many other avenues to follow, do we?”

“Just find him, sir,” Tony said.  It felt odd, being on the same side as the cops.  As much as he hated to admit it, the deputy was right.  This could be a lot bigger than just some pissed-off teenagers with a grudge.

The question was, just how big _was_ it?


	7. Chapter 7

**November 18 th, 2:45 am**

Inside the stark hospital room, Lainie Jensen paced.  Her hair was askew with random flyaways.  In a chair next to the bed, Matt held Justin’s still hand, absently rubbing circles on the little piece of flesh between the teen’s thumb and index finger.

“Bill Standall thinks the boys were targeted,” Lainie said finally, settling anxiously on the other side of the bed. 

“Why, though?  I mean, the fallout from the Baker case is settled. Or so I thought.”  Matt frowned.  His nerves were threatening to chew holes in his insides.  “Or is there something _else_ our kids aren’t telling us?”

“I don’t know, Matt.  Their friends seem pretty upfront about things this time.”  A tear threatened to fall from her nose, and she swiped it away.  “All I can think about is Clay…Matt, he could be hurt…he could be trapped somewhere, he could be…”

“No!” The word came out sharp, cutting the silence. “I will _not_ believe that, not for one second.  Clay is alive, and he is out there somewhere.  We…we just have to find him.” Matt choked against the tightness in his throat, and fresh wet tracks carved their way from his eyes to the bottom of his jaw.

Beneath them, Justin lay motionless, as though for all the world he were asleep.  “What if…” Lainie began, and then quickly quashed the rest of the sentence in her throat.

“What?”

“What if…what if this is about Justin?  I mean, something from that time he was in the city?  We have no idea what he went through all those months…what if…?”  The tears fell across her worried face.  "It sounds so horrible, to think that, but..."

"Don't, Lainie.  You're right.  We  _don't_ know.  But it's not like Clay hasn't made his share of enemies lately."

Mrs. Jensen fought for her composure.  "I know.  He has his own secrets.  I just...Matt, I thought we were getting _past_ all that.  The secrets, the disappearing, the half-truths..." 

Matt sighed.  “How ironic.  The only person our first child seems to open up the most to is our second child, and neither one of them can tell us anything!  Whatever they boys saw, or did, or witnessed... we won’t find out unless Justin wakes up.  Dr. Wacksman seems to think it’s just a matter of time until he does.”  He patted the boy’s hand.  “I hope so.  I hope he…” The tears fell now, freely.   “We can’t lose them.  Not either of them.”

A quick knock on the door startled the pair, and they managed to dry their faces a little before turning.  “Yes?” Lainie managed, staring at both Alex Standall and Jessica Davis.  The young people looked a little shamefaced, but covered quickly.  “What is it?”

“Um, everyone else went home for the night,” Alex said, clearing his throat.  “But…we were wondering…”

“We wanted to wait,” Jessica cut in.  “With you.  Just in case.”

A swell of pride surged through Lainie.  Their children had chosen their friends well.  “Come in,” she said, beckoning the two over with her hand.  “I know I could use a cup of coffee.” 

“I’ll get some,” Jessica said, trying to put a smile on her face.  It was looking more like a sad grimace.  “How do you take it?”

The Jensens both gave their orders, and the young woman went off in search of a coffee machine.  Alex had managed to make a seat out of the radiator near the window, which looked like it wasn’t very comfortable for the young man.  “Do you want to sit down?” Matt asked.

“No, thank you,” the boy declined politely.  “What I really want is for this idiot to wake up and tell us what happened.”  Alex sighed.  “We’ve been racking our brains all night, trying to figure out who might want to do this, and we’re coming up empty.”

“No injustices or social crusades you’ve dealt with lately?”  Lainie asked.  “I know Clay has gotten a reputation since the trial.”

“No, ma’am.  Most of those dragons are dead now.”  A small smile crossed Alex’s face.  “Besides, _we_ usually end up either helping Clay and Justin investigate their latest caper or save their asses from the load of crap they end up in.”  He paused.  “Um… I do have a question, though.”

“Yes?”

“Do either of you know anyone who drives an older model sedan, possibly with yellow paint?  Or gold?”

Both the Jensens looked puzzled.  “No, I don’t,” Matt replied.  “You, Lainie?”

Mrs. Jensen shook her head.  “Why do you ask?”

“We…ah, we saw the car,” Alex admitted.  “At the crime scene.  Clay and Justin’s car.  It was messed up pretty bad.  Tony says it had to be something older, more solidly built, to do that kind of damage.”  He rolled his head a little.  “And I…I _thought_ I saw some light colored paint on what was left of the bumper.  It looked yellow, or maybe gold, but it could have been the lights at the scene reflecting off of it.”

“Did you…?”

“Yeah, we told my dad,” Alex soothed.  “He’s looking into it.  We also sent out mass texts to people we know at school, people who could start tracking down anyone who might know what happened just after the game ended.  Or if anyone’s seen any sign of Clay since then.”  The young man shrugged slightly.  "With any luck, we'll have something to work with in the morning."

A watery smile grew on Lainie’s face.  “Thank you.  Our sons are lucky to have you as a friend.”

“Me too, Mrs. Jensen.  Me too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**November 18, just after dawn**

The sound of glass crashing woke Clay from his fitful sleep.  He shivered a little in the damp air.  Soft moonlight was fading to harsh rays of sun, spilling light into the tiny room.  The teenager’s head was still pounding, but the brunt of the pain had subsided, leaving Clay with a dull ache that threatened to consume him. He felt his neck crack as he sat up from the corner he’d fallen asleep in.  A raw, gurgling sound spilled forth, and it didn’t take long for Clay to realize where it had come from.   His stomach was threatening to chew holes into itself from both stress and hunger.

“Hey!” he called out, awkwardly pushing himself up from the floor.  He strode the ten steps to the door and started pounding on it.  “Hey, asshole!  Let me out!”

More glass broke.  Clay winced at the sound.  He stared at his unprotected feet.  In the distance, the sound of a low growl made itself heard.  Clay pounded harder.  “Let me out of here, goddammit!”

The door suddenly opened, and within seconds Clay felt hands mangling him towards the far wall.  “Shut the fuck up, asshole, if you know what’s good for ya!”

Weak limbs fought against the wiry man’s strength, which seemed to have endless reserves.  “Let me out,” Clay managed to croak out.  “I’m starving.  I need to take a piss.”

“So?  Take a piss.”  An elbow lodged itself against Clay’s throat, pinning him against the peeling wall color behind him.  “Plenty of room for that.  Not like the toilet works here.”

The disgust that radiated off of the younger man came off in waves.

“Now, if you know what’s good for ya, you’ll _shut_ the _fuck up!_ ”  A glint of sun caught against something metal, and soon Clay could feel the muzzle of the gun pressing into his temple, much harder than the one that fateful night at the Walker’s pool house.  The elbow lifted from the teenager’s Adam’s apple, and Clay sputtered as he fell to the ground in a heap.  Bright eyes shone with tears Clay dared not allow to fall, and he coughed violently.  “Got business to conduct.  Don’t need no asshole kid makin’ noise.”

“How…how long do you plan on k-keeping me here?” Clay queried as he struggled for breath. He was confused that no attempt to contact either Justin or his parents seemed to have taken place.

“Shut the fuck _up,_ I said.”  The wiry man’s icy voice froze the room, and Clay’s questions vanished.  “When I need you, I know where to find you.  And _don’t_ try breaking out of here, kid.”  The gun wiggled again in the man’s bony hand, and Clay kept his eyes on it.  “Else you’ll regret it.”

_Or I’ll be dead,_ Clay thought.  _Either way…_

With that, the door slammed shut.  The sounds of the lock catching sang in Clay’s ears.  He caught his breath, and then slowly walked over to the corner farthest from the door and windows.  Shame and embarrassment flooded over him as he further soiled the forgotten spot.

_Fuck,_ he thought.  _Please tell me Justin never had to do that._   _At least, not in his own house..._

Clay’s mind wandered to the social services file he’d accidentally flipped open one afternoon in his mother’s desk drawer.  He had been looking for a stamp to mail Skye a postcard.  Instead, Clay had skimmed report after report of neglect and abuse suffered by a little boy that, but for the grace of God, could have been him.  Some of the complaints actually made the teenager sick to learn of them.  Broken bones, filth, deprivation...the list went for miles.

_It’s a wonder Justin turned out as well as he did._

Something clanked just outside his prison, a thin metallic sound.  A loud clunk soon followed.  The low growl made itself known again, but this time, it wasn’t coming from Clay’s stomach.

_What the hell is going on?_ he wondered.  _And what is this guy’s endgame?  There has to be more to all this than just money…_


	9. Chapter 9

**November 18 th, 7:40 am**

News spread like wildfire at Liberty High.  Of that, Sheri Holland was certain.

The halls were buzzing.  The mass texts that the group had sent out the night before had everyone talking.  Down the hallway, she saw a small crowd gathering around Zach Dempsey, who was having trouble reigning in the chaos that came with it.  Zach was, clearly, not built to take the lead at _anything_ except basketball.

“…guys, no one’s heard from Clay since last night,” Sheri heard as she made her way towards first.  “And Justin’s, like, in a coma or something.”

“Yeah, but…they were at the game.  Remember?”

“Well, Justin was…I mean, thirty-five points that last quarter!  That was incredible!”

_Right,_ Sheri thought.  _Because the basketball score is what’s important right now._

Turning the corner for the stairs, she looked up and saw an unwelcome sight.  Monty was holding court in a stairwell, surrounded by the last remnants of the old jock culture that remained at Liberty.  Sheri turned quickly before she could be seen, but stood just out of sight around the bottom of the stairwell.  “It’s a fuckin’ joke,” Monty was bitching.  “Now all of a sudden we _care_ about the little asshole?”

“Monty, come on,” a baseball player said.  Sheri thought it might have been Jamie, but she wasn’t sure.  “You know they’ll be lookin’ at _us_ for this shit!”

“We didn’t do nothin’.  God, I hope they _don’t_ find Jensen.  Serve him right.  Maybe he can finally hook up with Hannah Baker then.  Fuck knows he was hot for that!”

It took every ounce of willpower Sheri possessed to keep still.  _Keep talking, Monty,_ she silently urged.  _I kinda wish Tony_ had _beat the shit out of you…_

“Well, what’s to say Jensen didn’t beat the shit outta Foley?  Probably fucked up his own car to hide it.”  Jamie, Sheri recalled, had a decent head for smarts, but wasn’t much of a leader.  Zach had more courage than this guy, and that was saying something.

“Jensen’s pulled some crazy shit, man,” another player chimed in.  “Maybe he really _has_ lost it this time.  Y’know, I heard he was talking to people that weren’t there, at one point.  Kid’s fucked up.”

“Hell, Foley probably _let_ the kid kick the shit outta him,” Monty chortled.  “I mean, he’s probably still payin’ Jensen back for givin’ him a key to his place.”  Sheri snuck a look.  The scowl on Monty’s face told her everything.

“Monty, you’re just a jealous little bitch,” she snapped, coming out from her hiding place.  The jocks startled, and then rallied around their new _de facto_ leader.  “I hope your old man kills you.  Probably deserve it, too.  Asshole.”

“What’d you say, bitch?”  Monty was furious.  “Oh, that’s right – you’re tryin’ to get into Jensen’s pants, aren’t ya?”  He spat.  “Fuckin’ asshole.  I hope he dies.”

“Fuck you.”  Sheri disappeared into the crowd before the jocks could come after her.  It was one good thing about Hannah’s legacy at Liberty. The jocks couldn’t really come after anyone anymore.  Clay’s actions had effectively disemboweled them, and what was left was so pathetic they weren’t even a worry.

Finally, Sheri made it to first.  She had promised Jessica that she’d get the homework information for her while the other girl sat at the hospital, waiting for Justin to wake up.

Zach slumped into a chair next to her.  “Well?” she said.

“Scotty’s put out the word, and his new group is on it.  So far, no one’s seen Clay anywhere since the game.  People noticed because he just started coming to them, you know?”

“Yeah.  Clay’s not an athlete by any means.  Robots are his thing.”  She smiled as she thought of the time he’d caught her scanning his latest Alien Killer Robots comic, half-daydreaming what she might look like dressed up as one.  She had thought it might be a turn on for Clay, and Lord knew _she_ was into it.

“Well, we need to connect with Tony.  He was getting the shop guys and art people in on this.”

Sheri sighed.   “Something’s gotta give, Zach.  We need a break.”

“I know.  Hopefully something does.”

 

* * *

 

“Listen, Clay’s been off the radar since last night,” Tony said as he continued working on his small engine for shop class.  “He wouldn’t have hurt Justin, and for sure he wouldn’t have left him like that.”  The young man paused.  Eighteen months ago, Clay wouldn’t have cared about what had happened to Justin Foley.  He wouldn’t have left the kid beaten stupid in the street, but he wouldn’t have cared either way after that.  It amazed him just how much Hannah had changed things.  It seemed she still was.

“I know, man,” Desi replied.  “Probably one of the best things to happen to that kid, getting adopted.”

“You think?”  For Tony, the jury was still out.  Foley was okay, now at least.  He remembered the old Justin Foley, and a part of Tony would always harbor a little resentment towards _that_ guy.  He hung with him now mostly because of Clay, and the new Justin Foley was, at least, a nicer, more stand-up guy.

“Guy was an asshole before.  Now, not so much.  Can’t help it if he’s still a jock.”

“I know,” another voice called out.  “Gotta say, I’m liking the new jocks now a _hell_ of a lot better than the old ones.”

“Soto, I didn’t know you hung with them.”  Tony was a little impressed.  Alverez Sotomayor was the exact _opposite_ of what had stood for jock culture at Liberty High.  The kid had brains _and_ a personally customized Harley Fat Boy.  The sky was the limit for him.

“I don’t.  But they got toys, and toys need fixing.  On skimpy-ass jock allowances.”  A gold tooth flashed.  “Listen, about Clay Jensen…”

“Yeah?”

Soto frowned.  “Maybe it’s nothing.  But…”

“Dude, tell me.  Now!”  Tony had to resist the urge to slap the guy.  Soto was good people.  There were just some things you didn’t do.

“Me and the boys were out the other night, did a drive-by.  We saw Jensen and Foley getting in that lame-ass Prius of theirs.”

_Shit,_ Tony thought.  _This is nothing new._

“…but, I remember Hector pointing out this vintage Oldsmobile.  The paint color was _loco_.  This seventies-era yellow-gold puke shit.”

Wide brown eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.  “It was an Olds?”

“Yeah, man.  Hector liked the style.  Wants to turn one into a hot rod.  But that color…oh, hell no.”

“Listen, Soto,” the younger man said, nearly breathless.  “I got a look at the Prius after the wreck.  Alex Standall said he saw what he thought was yellow or gold paint on the back of it.  You think you and Hector could recognize the color if you got a look at it?”

“Sure.”  Then the older kid paused.  “Wait – I ain’t gotta go to the cops?”

_Fuck._ “Look, man…Clay could be in some serious shit.  Like, life or death.  We don’t need another dead kid at this fuckin’ school, _comprendes?”_

Soto sighed.  “Nah.  Only for you, Tony.  I know Jensen is like…”

“Yeah.  He’s my brother, too.  And I can’t lose him, y’know?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll get Hector this afternoon.  We’ll go.  I hope you guys find him, man.”

“Yeah.  Me too.”


	10. Chapter 10

The first thing Justin was aware of when he woke was an annoying _beep_ that sounded in his ear.  He squinted against the light that threatened to burn his eyes.  _Everything_ hurt.  When he tried to speak, Justin started to gag against something plastic that was stuck in his throat.

There were voices near him.  They were fuzzy, as if someone had cut the Wi-Fi connection to the YouTube list he’d been listening to.  Justin thought he heard Mr. and Mrs. Jensen, and he wanted to ask them what was going on.  Oddly enough, he thought he heard Alex and Jess too.  That confused him.

“Okay, Justin, on the count of three, I want you to cough – very hard, okay?”  This voice was new.  Justin’s eyes hadn’t quite focused yet.  The light still burned, and everything seemed really, really bright.  “One, two…”

Justin coughed, and the plastic came up from his throat.  He grimaced, and tried to reach for his throat.  It was _beyond_ sore at this point.  “Wh…  wha…”  he tried, but the pain was just too much.

“Dude, you’re in the hospital.”  The sound of Alex Standall’s voice had never been more welcome. 

“Justin, I want you to listen to me.”  He blinked at this voice.  Justin didn’t know who this was.  “My name is Dr. Wacksman.”  The new voice sounded like that of a grandfather – or at least, what Justin thought one should sound like.  He’d never met his own grandparents.  “Your throat is going to be extremely sore for the next few hours.  I’d like you to try not to talk as much as possible.”

“What?”  Lainie’s voice was unmistakable.  “Doctor, you do understand…?”

“Mrs. Jensen,” the doctor replied.  “Your son needs to rest.  Using his vocal chords and throat muscles are going to do more damage, and it won’t help him.  I understand the situation, but…”

 _Situation?  What situation?_ Justin was more confused.

“So there’s nothing else?  We just wait?”  Matt sounded upset, like that time during Hannah’s trial when Clay had had to come clean about Justin’s heroin use.  “This is _not_ happening.”

Bright blue eyes blinked, and the fuzziness was beginning to wash away.  A continual pounding in his head made itself known, though, as though Clay had left the Imperial March blasting a little too loud in the car.

_The car…something happened…but what was it?_

Justin tried to flex his fingers, get some feeling back in them.  He startled a little when his right ones wouldn’t move.  “Your right wrist and three of the fingers were broken, Justin,” the doctor explained.  Someone must have noticed him moving.  “You also have some stitches just above your right eye.  You’re going to be extremely sore for a few days due to the bruising, and in a few minutes we’ll check the severity of your head wound.  It’s safe to assume, at this moment, you have a concussion.”

 _Great,_ Justin thought.  _Not like I haven’t had_ those _before._ The fleeting thoughts of his mother’s various husbands and ex-boyfriends taking shots at him ran through his head.  He tried to sit up, but became so dizzy he had to lie back down.  There was a gentle _whirring_ sound behind his head, and he felt the bed incline enough to put him a half-sitting, half-reclining position.  Something took hold of his hand – something warm, maybe a hand? – and held it gently.

 _Lainie?_ He knew for certain it wasn’t his mother.  Amber Foley couldn’t be bothered to show while he was in juvie, when he’d needed her.  She didn’t show when her parental rights were terminated.  She’d shown up a month later, pissing Clay off and sending shockwaves through his new family.  Since then, she’d shown up sporadically, trying to keep to an agreement of sorts with the Jensens regarding her visiting him.  A part of him chafed at that, because, after all, she was his mom.  A bigger part of him, though, was grateful to them for it.  Throughout his short life, Justin knew there were two things that were paramount to his mother – getting her fix, and having a man in her life to “take care of her.”  The first continued to slowly destroy her, and the second made her a dependent pawn unable or unwilling to stand up for herself _or_ for him.  Justin wanted to believe that _some_ part of his mother truly loved him.  The more he reflected on her, though, he questioned it.  Seeing Lainie, and how she acted with both him and with Clay, was giving him a framework to compare against.  Amber was not winning the argument for stable but helpless mother one bit.

“I’m going to take your parents out for a few minutes for a consult,” the doctor said, and Justin’s attention snapped back fuzzily into place.  “Then we’ll see just what we’re dealing with, shall we?”

Justin tried to nod.  His head hurt too much to try more than one.

“We’ll stay here, Mr. and Mrs. Jensen.  It’ll be okay,” a voice replied next to him, one he knew immediately.  _Jessica._ God, he still loved her.  Not a day went by that he didn’t think of just how badly he’d fucked up with her, and how goddamn thankful he was to have her still in his life, even as just a good friend.  He didn’t deserve even _that._ “Hey, don’t cry,” she said, and Justin could feel something brush against his cheek.  “We’ll get through this.  We’ll figure it out.”

_We’ll.  Her and me?  What is she talking about?_

He opened his mouth to speak.  “No, Justin, don’t talk,” Alex said.  Something shuffled next to him.  Justin cursed inwardly at the fact that everything seemed out of focus still.  It was clearing, albeit slowly.  The shadowy, pastel-hued form he knew was Alex was pressing something into his unbandaged hand.  “I bet you’re really confused, huh?”

Justin nodded once.  He scrunched up his face.  His throat hurt too much to even try talking.  Taking his bandaged hand, he shook it a little, trying to indicate assent.

“Justin, someone hit your car last night,” Jessica said.  “We think you got out to see what happened.”

 _Last night…_ Justin took a breath.  His face furrowed deep into thought.  _We played East County…we won!_ He moved his fingers up and down, mimicking the dribble of a basketball on the court.

“Right.  We won.  Then you and Clay got in the car.  Someone hit you.  We think you got out to see what happened…” Jessica’s voice was kind, but strained.  Justin knew that something was wrong.

He thought further.  _It took forever to get changed.  Clay bitched a little.  Matt and Lainie said there’d be pizza when we got home.  We walked out towards the car.  Clay…something was bugging him, and…_

Nothing.  Justin’s mind went blank after that.  _What am I missing?  What aren’t they telling me?_ The annoying _beep_ began to grow more insistent, and his breathing began to get labored.

“Whoa, Justin, calm down!”  A hand fell lightly on his bruised shoulder, and Justin began to still.  He wondered how Alex could do it, working with about a third of his limbs still not functioning correctly.  His close friend was another life messed up by Bryce, by Hannah, by assholes like Justin himself had been.  He didn’t deserve to be comforted by someone like Alex, by a good woman like Jess.

Justin scrunched his face up tighter.  He wiggled his hands, both loose and bound with gauze.  _What the hell aren’t you telling me?_   he wanted to shout, but the pain in his throat kept him silent.

“Look, dude,” Alex continued.  “Clearly someone beat the shit out of you.  The question is _who_?  And what did they want with Clay?”

 _Clay._ The fog continued to lift slowly.  Jess and Alex’s faces began to focus, only blurring at the tiny details.  He looked around.  _Where was Clay?_ Justin narrowed his eyes, hoping it would ask the question he couldn’t voice.

“Justin, Clay’s missing.  No one has seen him since just after the game last night.”  Jessica’s eyes were full of concern.  “You were the last person to see him.”

“Do you remember anything about last night?" Alex pestered, voice also full of concern.  "Anything at all?”

 _Clay’s missing._  The words ran on repeat inside a scrambled brain.  Justin began to hyperventilate again, and this time the insistent _beeping_ drew the attention of the nurses from down the hall.

“Out of the way, please!” the tall black woman snapped, checking the monitors.  The warm touches of his friends vanished, and soon a flurry of jabbering and activity threatened to consume Justin as though a hungry monster wanted seconds on turkey dinner. 

_Clay’s missing._

_You were the last person to see him._

Justin didn’t want to dwell on the unspoken caveat in Jess’s tone:  _alive._ He didn’t for a second want to think of Clay lying broken somewhere, unable to call for help…or worse.

Clay couldn’t go to be with Hannah.  Not yet.

Justin still needed him first.


	11. Chapter 11

**November 18th, 3pm**

Seth seethed.  The mid-afternoon sun was boiling.  He was running out of glassware to cook in.  The problem with employing junkies, he realized, was that they were too focused on the end product and what could be done with it.  Half the time he ended up with some bitch fight over a sample that inevitably got used or lost.

Fuck his life.

_What I need to do is make good with Jose,_ he thought.  _Get myself back into a_ real _operation.  Not this half-assed bullshit._

He took another hit.  Inside, three of his so-called “employees” were hard at work.  In the farthest back room of the old, rotting farmhouse he’d taken over on the outskirts of Evergreen County, Amber’s bastard’s shiny new adoptive brother sat trapped like a rat.  Seth smiled at that.  All he’d needed was a lot of broken glass, a few misleads and the kid’s shoes and socks to keep him in place. 

_Breaking Bad had it fucked up,_ Seth thought.  _Just scare the kid and they’ll keep in line._

Pleasantly buzzed, he thought about the next part of his plan.  He’d kept the brother’s phone.  GPS would be a bitch to get around, but it could be done.  He pulled the device from his back pocket, lazily scrolling through the kid’s contact list.  It was pathetically short.  A few friends, parents, Amber’s bastard.  He toyed with dialing the little asshole, but he knew better.  _Won’t do to be found out yet.  I gotta play this cool._

His mind wandered to that back room, where the brother was locked up tight.  It was the one thing he hadn’t contracted out – making sure that room was inescapable.  The little bit of light that got in was through holes so small that a beetle couldn’t crawl through them.  The windows were sealed tight.  The door had a strong lock on it, and he had the only key.  The hinges were on the outside, so the brat couldn’t get clever and work them out to escape.

A growl wafted in from the distance.  The place had come with four guard dogs:  a Rottweiler, a Doberman, a German Shepard and some kind of pit/mutt mix.  They were all lean, mean, guarding machines.  Seth was amenable to dogs _if_ they could be useful.  He’d trained these ones well.  They stood sentry around the room the kid occupied from the outside, ready to tear into him if he tried prying the boards from the windows.  The man sighed.  He’d really need to feed them something soon.  Wouldn’t do to have them turn on _him_.

Seth thought of the miserable brat, as he’d pinned him helplessly to the wall of that dilapidated room.  “ _I’m starving.  I need a piss.”_   The kid seemed a little out of it.  Good.  Wouldn’t do to have him get clever.  Or brave. 

_I might need to feed the brat, too._ There wasn’t much on the premises, and it wasn’t like there was a corner store to run to.  7-Eleven didn’t operate in these parts.

“Quentin!” 

After a few minutes, a thin, scraggly figure crept out of the farmhouse.  “Yeah, Seth?”

Seth fished out a wad of cash, peeling a few bills off the top.  “Gonna need supplies,” he said, pressing the money into eager hands.  “And that means _food,_ dipshit, not dope.”

“No, man, it’s cool,” Quentin said, a little too quickly.  “I mean, dope I can get from you, right?  Why buy anywhere else?”

“Why I like you, man,” Seth agreed.  “I mean it, asshole.  _Food._ And something for the brat.”

“Okay, okay.  Anythin’ special?”

“I don’t give a fuck.  Somethin’.”  Seth paused.  “And ten pounds of meat for the dogs.  Unless you want ‘em to eat _you.”_

“Okay.”

The sound of breaking glass echoed through Seth’s ears.  “For fuck’s sake!  Can’t these assholes even _cook_ right?”

“You want I should get more glassware too, boss?”

Blue eyes rolled in an addled, depraved head.  “Yeah.  Food first, then glass.  Just tell Dipshit and Fuckhead in there that I need the glass on the floor.  I _don’t_ want that kid getting out.  Understand?”

“Yeah, Seth, I got it.  They know.”

Seth wondered just how _much_ they knew.  He didn’t want anything happening to his meal ticket – for now.  There was plenty of time to take care of things after his money was safe in his hands.  No one was gonna miss some fuck-up kid and his brother, anyway.

Once Quentin had left, Seth sat back on the rotting porch, taking in the heat.  A breeze blew through, and it felt delicious.

* * *

 

Clay was boiling.  The boarded-up room he was imprisoned in acted like a hotbox, and the heat couldn’t escape.  He wiped another sheen of sweat off of his face, and the eighteen year-old was tempted to peel off his shirt in an attempt to cool off.

What he wouldn’t give for a glass of water.  The heat was so oppressive it kept him from moving much, seriously hampering his attempts to try and escape.

_Focus.  What do you know for certain, Clay?_

He thought a moment.  _It’s hot here.  We had damp weather all week, and here it’s hot.  We must be quite some ways from home, but I can’t narrow it down._ Clay swallowed, and tried desperately to keep his mouth moist.  _It’s quiet too._ Too _quiet.  There’s no people around, no one I could call to for help, even if I got out of this fucking room._ Anger washed over the teen as he pounded a fist against the splintering floorboards.  _I don’t have my shoes.  Normally I wouldn’t care, but everywhere I turn there’s wood splinters, or crashing glass, or even possibly used needles – I_ really _don’t want to catch some fucking disease because of these assholes!_

It took a few minutes for Clay to compose himself.  _I know that the man that’s talked to me must be the one in charge.  There’s others, but I don’t know how many.  I’ve never seen them._ The teen took slower breaths, willing himself to calm down.  He focused all his energies on his ears, praying that he could use some of the tricks he’d picked up in counseling.  _There’s two, maybe three more voices.  The pitches are different._ He smiled a little.  _See, Tony?  And you say I never pay attention._

Clay felt stiff.  He stretched out a little, working his aching shoulders and wriggling his head and neck.  An audible _crack_ sounded, and Clay felt a little better near his neck and shoulder blades.  _I know I’m going to have to figure out a way out of here.  I can’t force the boards on the windows – they’re too tight.  I could claw my way through the wall, but I don’t have any tools, and the wall’s stronger than it looks.  I can’t force the door – there’s a lock, and it opens out, so no hinges to pick._ He slammed his hand against the floor again.  “Fuck!” he cursed softly.

_I need someone to fuck up.  Or a goddamn miracle.  Otherwise, I don’t see a way out of here._

Clay closed his eyes.  He feared falling asleep.  _I can’t miss any chance that comes up.  I might not get another._

He took slow breaths.  He stared at a hole in the crumbling drywall.  _What the fuck am I gonna do now?_

Without warning, the door creaked open.  Something hard landed on the floor, along with a plastic-wrapped parcel.  “There,” the wiry man snapped.  “Eat.”

Clay grabbed the heavy plastic container.  It was full of water.  A third of it was drained before he thought to stop.

“Don’t make yourself sick, kid.  No one’s coming to clean it up.”

_That’s right.  No fucking toilet._ The thought of pissing in the corner again put off Clay’s appetite.  He took the plastic-wrapped item – a ham sandwich – and began to nibble on it. 

“Better.  Make it last.  Not getting anything else for a while.”  The man turned, started to close the door.

“Wait!” Clay croaked out.

“What, fuckhead?!”  The man’s eyes sparkled dangerously.  Clay was at a serious disadvantage.

“Can I…can I have more water?  Please?” The words were soft, but sharp and pleading.  “It’s so hot…”

“You’ll be fine.  Shut the hell up.”

“Please…”

“I said _no._ Now shut the fuck up.”  The door creaked again.

“Why don’t you just kill me, huh?”  It took most of Clay’s strength to force the words out of his parched throat.  “Why are you _doing_ this?”

The man stomped into the room, enraged.  “Listen, you little shit,” he spat.  “I need you alive to get my money.  That’s it.  All I need is you drawing breath and in one piece.  Nothing said about the condition of that piece, understand?”

Clay’s focus wasn’t on his captor anymore.  It was on the open door, which was just in front of him, unguarded.  The man had moved to the side, to draw closer to Clay.  It left a hole.  Without thinking, Clay mustered up the last of his reserves and leapt for the opening that promised freedom.  He made it about three feet out of the door when he saw it – the thick coating of glass shards that littered the floorboards just outside the small hallway leading to his prison.  The teen stopped dead in his tracks.  _There’s no way I can cross that!  My feet wouldn’t be fucked up – they’d be shredded to bits!  I’d have_ no _chance then!_

“I told you, asshole,” the man said, grabbing Clay by the throat.  Clay fought viciously, but was too weak to fight him off.  “Told you you’d fuck up those pretty feet of yours if you tried to escape.  You believe me now, dipshit?”

Breathless, Clay gave up his fight.  He said nothing as he was nearly tossed back into the boiling, stinking hellhole that had become his world.  “And just for that, no, asshole, you _can’t_ have more water.  Make what you got last.”  The door slammed shut behind him, and Clay’s hopes vanished at the sound of the lock falling into place.

_Fuck me,_ the young man thought, looking at the nibbled sandwich and the container of water.  _What the fuck am I gonna do now?_


	12. Chapter 12

******November 18th, 5pm**

 

“He doesn’t remember.”

“No way,” Zach spat.  His head fell into outstretched hands.

“Are you _fucking_ serious?!” Tony swore.  Wide brown eyes rolled towards the heavens, and a hand rubbed over a worried face.

“As a funeral.”  Alex’s scowl belied nothing.  “He’s got a concussion.  The doctor says that’s normal in these cases – memory loss.  People can lose a few minutes, sometimes whole _days_ before the event occurred.”

“But it means we’re no closer to finding Clay,” Tony argued.  “Soto and his boy Hector gave their statements an hour ago.”

“They’re the ones who saw the car, right?”  Alex took a breath.  Since he’d fucked himself over by putting lead into his head, he had some trouble remembering small details.  He was good for noticing things, but his short-term memory wouldn’t allow him to retain certain things for long.  It was like being able to do a massive jigsaw puzzle only to find out about ten of the thousand pieces were from another puzzle altogether.  Sometimes it fucking sucked.  Now was one of those times.

“Yeah.  They swear it was an Olds.  Seventies, puke yellow.  Light a flashlight was on, that kind of thing.”  Tony sighed.  “I guess the cops are combing the area, looking for it.”

“Okay.  So let them.”

“Did Justin tell you guys anything else?” Zach asked.  The three were congregated at the Standall’s kitchen table, working out their next moves.  “Any ideas as to who might do something like this?”

“Zach, all he could remember was getting in the car with Clay.  Everything after that is…” a hand waved dismissively.  “…gone.”

“We’re nowhere,” Tony groused.

“Well, we know for sure this was planned.  You said those guys saw the car waiting in the lot, right?”

“That’s what Soto said.”

Alex frowned a little.  “You trust him?”

“More than I trust myself right now.  Soto is a man for details.  It’s what makes him _the_ go-to mechanic and customs man for the younger crowd around here.”  Tony took a little offense at Alex’s query, but he couldn’t fault the younger boy.  He didn’t know the shop crowd like Tony did.

“Okay then.”  Alex sighed.

“What about before?” Zach blurted out.

“Before what?”  The question came in stereo.

“I mean, what about before…you know, before Justin came back?”

Tony cottoned on.  “You think this is a beef with someone he shared a squat with?  Or fucked over on the streets?”

Zach shrugged.  “I dunno.  Hell, there’s a lot even _I_ didn’t know about him, and he was supposedly one of my best friends!”  An irritated puff of air escaped the young man’s lungs.  “I mean, I knew it was crap for him at home, but I didn’t know about the abuse.  Or how bad the drugs really were.”

“Wait – that might be it,” Alex exclaimed.  “I mean, didn’t he steal money from one of those assholes?”

Tony racked his brain.  He and Clay had talked a lot in the months leading up to Justin’s adoption.  Clay was cool with everything, but he had discussed a lot of the problems that came with Justin.  “He said he stole some money from one of his mother’s ex-boyfriends, the one before he took off for the city.”

“I remember that guy,” Zach said.  “Justin called him ‘Meth Seth.’  I think he hated him more than the other losers his mom brought home.”

“Did you get a last name?” Alex asked.  “Something?”

Zach shook his head.  “No.  I could tell Justin hated him.  Spent a _lot_ of time at Bryce’s pool house during that period, just before…”

“I know.  Hannah.” Alex looked defeated.  “Between the doctors, the Jensens and the cops, we can’t get within a _mile_ of Justin right now.  Everyone wants him to rest, to get better so he _can_ remember.  Maybe.”

“What if…” Zach said, then shook his head.  “No.  Bad idea.”

“At this point, Dempsey, _no_ idea is a bad idea.  Spill.” Tony put on his most serious face.

“What if we asked Bryce?  I mean, if he knows the name?”

Both Alex and Tony sat dumb-stricken for a moment.  “You’re right.  _Bad_ idea,” Tony said firmly.

“I don’t like it either, guys, but it may be our only chance.  With Justin guarded from up on high, there’s no way we’re getting that name short of the asshole calling one of us to give it.  Bryce may be our only shot.”  Alex slumped in his chair, aggravating his leg a little.

“And there’s no reason he’d give it, Standall!  If I were him, the only person I’d hate _more_ than Clay would be Justin.  Hands down.  Both of them brought him down, and now he’s still wounded and pissed as hell.  There is _no_ reason he’d talk to us.  Period!”

“Even if it won him some goodwill in this town?”

“The fuck does that do for him?  Probably got some spot in a prissy Ivy League college bought and paid for by his daddy.  He waits a couple months, and he’s history.”

“No.  I ran into him, just before the dance,” Zach said.  “You’re half right, though.  Daddy paid his way into Hillcrest Academy, but he’s gotta go in as a junior.”

“Hillcrest?” Alex asked.  “Let’s assume for a minute I didn’t spend my whole life in this fucking town.  What’s that?”

“Big fancy school over near Vaughn’s Hill,” Tony explained.  “Prestigious shit.  Gotta have two things to get in there – money and brains.  Assholes like the old jock crowd wouldn’t have a chance there.”

“Plus, it’s a boys school,” Zach added.  “No girls.  Keeps him close to home and, apparently, out of trouble.”  He _tsk_ ed softly.  “I mean, not that he needs it.  I guess Chloe Rice is still with him.”

“Well, there’s no accounting.  Girl’s got her reasons, I guess.”  Tony found it hard to understand the young woman’s reasons, himself.

“Well, there, you see?  He’s gotta spend another year in this hellhole.  I guarantee he’s not gonna make any friends over there, because news travels fast.  We can’t make him _not_ a rapist…”

“Unless we cut his fucking dick off,” Tony suggested.

“…but we _can_ spread it around that he helped the cops find Clay.  I mean, think about it.  Guy gets tagged as a rapist, and yeah, he is, but he helps _save_ one of his accusers?”  Alex shrugged his shoulders.  “Might go some way into making his time here a little easier.  But not too much.”

“I still like cutting his dick off.”

Zach shrugged.  “I can’t disagree with Tony.  He basically got away with who knows _how_ many rapes?  Plus the stuff that happened to us last year?  You can’t tell me he didn’t know about any of it.  I mean, Clay almost got fucking _killed_ last year, remember?”

“I know.  But this time he really _could_ be killed.  Or worse.”  Alex stood up.  “I have to try.  Even if he slams the door in my face, I have to try.”

Tony and Zach looked at each other.  Then they looked at Alex.  “Not a word to Jess,” Zach said.

“How fucking stupid do you think I am, Zach?”

“Pretty fucking stupid to think this is going to work, Standall,” Tony said.  “Or desperate.”

“Yeah, desperate’s good.  I’ll go with that.”  Alex made his way to the door.  “Coming?  Or am I walking to Vaughn’s Hill by myself?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: ableist language, sexist language, Bryce Walker
> 
> Unfortunately, Bryce is only slightly more enlightened than Monty. I apologize.

**November 18th, 6pm**

 

Bryce Walker took another sip of brandy and slouched into the leather armchair in the common area of the pool house.  It had become his home since his arrest.  The moment he stepped back onto the grounds, his mother had insisted.

_“Barry, he as much as_ admitted _he’s done worse!”_ she’d said in the car on the way back.  _“And he’s already shamed himself and this family by pleading out to_ this _one.”_

_“Nora, it’s all right.  Warren’s got it figured out.  A couple of months, and this will blow over…”_

_“No.  I will not be known as the woman who willingly housed a_ rapist!” The last word had been hissed so quickly it was nearly spat.  _“Either_ he _goes, or_ I _do.  Good luck explaining_ that _at the office.”_

His father was a commanding sort of man, but he knew when he was outplayed.  Bryce had learned Rule #1 in the Walker household early on:  keep yourself clean.  Rule #2 was obvious:  if you can’t, figure out how to make it so.  Hence Bryce’s banishment to the pool house.  It didn’t matter.  He’d been pretty much living in it since the night he’d had his way with Hannah Baker.

Bryce swirled the glass, reminiscing.  Hannah had been a _nice_ piece of ass.   She’d been fun.  It was something he wasn’t having a whole lot of anymore.  True, he’d started the year at Hillcrest, but the curriculum was more advanced than he was ready for.  The cocky young man had planned on skating through his last year of high school, knowing that he was being scouted by several schools for his prowess in baseball.  He’d just settled on the University of Michigan before Clay Jensen showed up.

Clay Jensen.  Scornful eyes cast over at the matching armchair next to Bryce’s own.  He remembered that night too – the stupid fuck, crying he wanted to buy weed.  Another swallow of amber liquid coated Bryce’s throat.  Jensen had wanted a hell of a lot more than weed.  A small smile crossed Bryce’s face.  _Gotta hand it to Jensen,_ he thought.  _Comes in, throws around the “r” word, gets his ass beat within an inch of his life, and he_ still _manages to come out a winner._ No one had been more surprised than Bryce to hear his own voice casually telling the little pissant just how things worked over people’s phones and radio speakers.  It had caused _a lot_ of damage, and while none of it was admissible in court – _thank God_ —the damage had been done.  No girl within a twenty-mile radius took his calls.  Guys went out of their way to “explain” how he was in their school or on their team because his space was bought and paid for.  The days of having parties and keggers and casual hookups were all but over.  Only a few of the guys from his old team at Liberty cared to be around him, and he’d had to settle.  Montgomery de la Cruz, however, was still on his shit list.  Even Chloe had grown distant these past few months.  It was no matter.  She was getting thicker around the middle, and it wasn’t a flattering look on her.  He still had a standard to maintain.

The hardest part was after his probation.  Bryce had come to the lawyer’s office, fully expecting to hear that the whole thing with Jessica fucking Davis and Justin fucking Foley was over and done with. 

_“Wait, say that again?  What the fuck do you mean, I’ve gotta register as a sex offender?!”_

Warren had tried to explain the bullshit that was the California penal code.  Somehow, even though his record could be sealed, he _still_ had to register as a sex offender in the state of California – likely for the rest of his life.

_“Even with no record?”_ his father pointed out.  _“That is, effectually, what sealing his juvenile record does, doesn’t it?”_

Apparently not.  Though his father fought for him for over three hours, there was simply nothing that could be done.  _“The law is the law, Bryce,”_ Warren said finally.  _“And given today’s social culture climate, I don’t see it as being a thing that will be changed in_ my _lifetime, let alone yours.  Hopefully, it won’t affect your future too much.”_

It was.  Schools were no longer looking at him for scholarships.  No one wanted him on a team.  The second anyone caught wind of it, people made excuses and ran away from him.

Bryce Walker was not meant to be alone.  No way in hell.

He slammed the empty glass in his hand a little too hard on the wooden coffee table, chipping the bottom a little.  Bryce took a breath, and then another.  He’d just have to try harder.  Turn on the charm a little more.  Get more cash to grease enough wheels. 

_Fuck,_ he thought.  _I seriously need to get the_ fuck _out of this town._

Just then came a tap on the front door.  It startled him a little.  Bryce knew the guys were doing weight training that afternoon, so he didn’t expect company.  His curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the door. 

Alex Standall’s face stared back at him.  So did Zach Dempsey’s.  Bryce tried to resist the urge to just start laughing.  “The fuck are you assholes doing here?” he spat.  “Thought I wasn’t good enough for you, Dempsey.”

“Believe me, if I could get this any other way, I would,” Zach replied.  “You’re an asshole.”

“Seems like a strange way to ask for something.  I assume that’s why you’re here?”

Standall fidgeted a little with that ridiculous cane of his – all decorated up as though it could be camouflaged or some shit. “Yeah, we are.  We won’t be a minute.”

“I should call the cops.  You’re putting me in violation of that fucking restraining order, remember?”

“Shit,” Zach cursed quietly.

“Yeah, and you’re not in violation if _we_ approach _you,_ fuckhead.  Listen, we need a name.”

Now Bryce was really curious.  “A name?  Don’t you already have one?”

“I told you this was a bad idea, Standall,” another voice shouted from the driver’s seat of a classic Mustang.  “But no, you fucks won’t listen to me…”

“Hey, nice,” Bryce called back.  “Looking good, Padilla.  I guess insurance paid?”  He waved a little in that ridiculous ‘princess wave’ style his mother had taught him when he was four.

“Fuck you, Bryce,” the man snapped.  “Let’s go, assholes!”

“Look, Bryce, we need a name.  Do you remember what Justin’s mom’s boyfriend's name was?  The one she had before he left town earlier this year?”

Now Bryce did laugh.  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.  And you’re not asking Justin _why_?”

“Someone beat the goddamn shit out of him, Bryce.”  Zach’s teeth were clenched as he spoke.

“Wasn’t me.”

“We know, dickhead.  ‘Cause if you _had_ , you’d know where Clay Jensen is.  I doubt he’s in _there_ ,” Standall said, pointing through the open door.

“And why the fuck would I care about where Clay Jensen is?”  Bryce shook his head in disbelief.  “Like I would want him to fuck up my life any more than he already _has_.”  He stared out at the bottom of the stone steps, to a night where the younger man had nearly come to murder him as well as himself.  Only that fucking sellout Justin Foley had kept Jensen from going through with it.  Only Justin had scared him enough to keep his mouth shut.  Bryce didn’t know when his former best friend had gotten so proficient with a firearm, but he had wisely erred on the side of caution.  Maybe there was something to be said for running off into the bowels of the city after all.

“Clay’s missing, asshole.  _After_ someone beat the shit out of Justin.  He’s up at Mercy with broken bones and a blackout concussion.  We’re thinking this old boyfriend of his mom’s could be behind it.  So, again, all we need is a name.”  The way Standall made his case, like it was the simplest thing in the world, was irritating the fuck out of Bryce.  “Besides, it seems like you could use a little goodwill in this town.”

Bryce’s eyes narrowed.  “Say what?”

“I know for a fact you’re on the outs at Hillcrest,” Zach said.  “A few of the guys on the football team go to my church.  We talk.”

“Like I give a shit.”

“I also know no girl in this town is taking your calls.  People talk, Bryce.”  It was taking an _extreme_ amount of willpower to _not_ slap the shit out of the fucking cripple standing in front of him.  “Wouldn’t you like them to be talking about how you gave the cops a lead that helped find Clay?  Positive spin, and all that bullshit?”

“Forget it, Alex,” Tony shouted from the car.  “He’s not biting.  We’ll find another way.”

A pair of sighs came from Bryce’s unexpected guests.  “He’s right, Alex.  He’d have said something by now.”  Zach turned to leave.  “You coming?”

“Bryce.  Please.”  A soft pair of eyes pleaded with him.  “Do the right thing.  For _once_.”  Alex waited a minute more, then turned to walk away.

“Griffith.”  Bryce shook his head.  “I think the guy’s name was Seth Griffith.  I could be wrong, though.  Justin usually called him “asshole” or “dickhead” or “Meth Seth.”  He was some kind of meth dealer, I think.”

A small smile crossed Standall’s face.  “Thank you.”  With that, he and Zach joined Tony Padilla in the car and left, leaving Bryce alone with only his thoughts for company.


	14. Chapter 14

**November 18th, 7pm**

 

“Were you able to get anything out of him?”  Deputy Standall sat at the hard plastic table that had made its way into Justin Foley’s hospital room, taking notes.  The boy’s friends had returned home, with promises to return later.  Near the bed, Matt and Lainie Jensen took turns trying their best to be strong for Justin’s sake as well as comfort each other.  The stress was clearly showing on Matt’s face, and Lainie’s bottom lip was bleeding in spots.

“They took the tube out earlier this afternoon,” Lainie told him.  “The doctor told him not to talk if he could help it.”

“Does he know?  I mean, about Clay?”

Matt nodded.  “His friend Jessica was with him, along with your son Alex.  Jessica said he seemed to remember being at the game, and leaving the building with Clay.  After that…”

Bill nodded.  “From dealing with Alex, I’ve learned a little about that.  He might _never_ remember what happened in those last few minutes.”  He sighed.  “Or he might see or hear something that sends it all rushing back.”

“Really?” Lainie rubbed circles over Justin’s unbandaged hand. 

“Yeah.  I know Alex wanted to play this video game he’d had before…well, before.  Claimed he needed it to help him remember something.  It wasn’t a game I wanted my son to have, at that point.  But it was important to him, so I got it.”

“And did he?  Remember?”  Matt sounded hopeful.

The deputy paused a moment.  How much should he tell them?  “Yes,” he said finally.  “He remembered the thing that was bothering him; that he couldn’t quite grasp until then.  I know it gave him some peace.”

The still body lying on the hospital bed chose then to stir.  Greenish-blue eyes blinked open, and he tried to sit up with some difficulty.  “Shh, it’s okay,” Lainie soothed.  “Remember, try not to talk too much.”

Justin cleared his throat.  The purple bruises nearly ran the width of his neck.  “But…I wanna help.”  The kid’s voice was so raw and scratchy it sounded like sandpaper catching on fire.  The pain in the drawn young face was palpable.  “We…we gotta find him.  Clay.”

“And we will.  It seems your friends are a pretty resourceful bunch.”  Matt was trying to hide the tears that were starting to well up in his eyes.  “The police are taking tips from half the student body at Liberty High.”

“And a few groups are still out canvassing,” Bill added.  “I gotta say, I’ve never seen something pull a town together so quickly.”

A small smile crossed Justin’s face.  “Seems… Clay was onto something.  And…and Hannah.”  Then he grew serious.  “How long…was I out?”

“Better part of a day.  Clay’s been missing since seven last night.  Given the state of your car, I’d say someone was planning this.  It wasn’t an accident.”  The deputy took off his hat and began to fiddle with it.  “Justin, is there _anyone_ who might want to hurt Clay?  Or you?”

Thin shoulders shrugged.  A lip twitched.  A cough followed.  “Take…take your pick.  Clay…he destroyed the jocks, with…with that tape.  I know…”  A deep breath followed.  “I know…Monty still targets us.  And Alex too.”

“Because of Bryce Walker.  And Jessica Davis.”

Justin nodded.  “Most of…my enemies…were broken with Bryce.”

“What about when you were in the city, Justin?” Lainie asked.  Justin startled a little.  “I’m not judging, honey, but…would anyone have followed you here?  Someone you…I don’t know, fought with?  Or that had a grudge?”

The kid fell still a moment, as though he’d thought of something.  “A grudge…”

“Justin?”

“Something…” He exhaled sharply, in disgust.  “I can’t…can’t remember.” Justin reached for the water cup in Matt’s hand, and he drank deeply.

A commotion made itself known in the hallway.  The sounds of feet racing against linoleum tile and muffled grunts were overshadowed by the sounds of crashes and hasty apologies.  “The hell is going on?” Matt wondered, rising to his feet.

Lainie looked perplexed. “I…I don’t…”

The door swung open with a _bang,_ and three familiar teenagers entered.  “We got a name,” Zach Dempsey cried, trying to stop himself before he collided with the foot of the hospital bed.

“Seth Griffith,” Alex blurted.  “Does that sound familiar?”

Justin’s eyes grew wide.  The deputy noticed his hands begin to twitch, and it looked as though the poor kid were looking for an escape route.  “Yeah, it does.  How did you…?”

“ _Do not_ ask, Foley,” Tony Padilla said firmly.  “Seriously, _don’t._ ”  Sinking into a leftover visitor’s chair, he continued.  “You told me and Clay you stole money from him.  It was why you couldn’t go back to your mom’s place, remember?”

A head of brown curls shook softly.  “It can’t be him.  I… It can’t be.”

“Why not?” Matt asked. 

“Yeah, I have to agree,” Deputy Standall concurred.  “You seem sure it’s not.  Why?”

Justin bit his lip.  “He…I wouldn’t be here.  He’d have killed me.  I _know_ it.  I would not be here, if it was Seth.  And…and for sure he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t have bothered with Clay.”

“You stole money from this guy?”  Pad and pencil came out, trained ears waiting for an answer.

The young patient cursed softly.  He glared at his compatriots.  “When I left… _before_ , Seth nearly killed me the night before.  You’d served those papers for me… for the Baker trial…”

“Subpeonas, Justin.  So you _did_ get it then?” Lainie’s voice held just a touch of rebuke to it.

Justin nodded.  “He was pissed.  Claimed I was fucking up his ‘business’ by being involved with cops and lawyers and all that.”  The more he spoke, the stronger his voice became.  “I knew then… I couldn’t go back.  I was pissed.  He…he threw _me_ out of _my_ home!”

“So you stole money from him?” Alex piped up.  “Smart.”

“The hell was I supposed to do?  I called around that night, couldn’t find anyone to help me,” Justin spat.  “I was fucked, and I knew it.  And like I said, I was pissed.  So I decided to hit him where it hurt.”  He sighed.  “If he was gonna throw me out… he was gonna pay for it.” 

“How much did you take?”  Deputy Standall lifted his pencil, waiting on the answer.

Justin shrugged, and everyone noticed it took an effort to do so.  “About a grand… I think?  It only lasted about a month.”

“Jesus,” Matt said.  “And you came to us in March.  That was…what?  Four months?”

“Five.”  Shame flooded Justin’s face.  “Look, I’m not sorry I took his money.  I did it again, too.”

The adults looked confused.  “Again?”

“That night…when you and Lainie were arguing…when you found out about my other problem…”

Understanding flooded Matt’s face.  “I see.”

“Oh, that,” Alex said.  Looking at the wonder on his friends’ faces, he replied, “Later.”

“Yeah, that.  I saw my mom then.  She was high, babbled on about wanting me to stay, but…I knew _he’d_ come back, and… she wouldn’t leave him.  I basically searched their place till I found his stash again.  That was about… fifteen hundred that time.”  Justin bit his lip again, and blood drops began to form.  “She said he’d kill her, if he found out.”  He snorted.  “And what’d I do?  Gave her a few bills, and told her to disappear. I left, and never looked back.”

“I wondered how you had so much money,” Lainie said.  “After…well, anyway.”  Turning to the deputy, she said, “We still have that.  I think there was about eleven hundred left.”

Bill’s lip twitched.  “It’s a gray area, Mrs. Jensen.  It was illegal gains that were stolen.  Personally, I’m not going to follow up on any theft of such gains.  I think Justin’s suffered enough, don’t you?”

“I do.  But we have it, nonetheless.”  Then she turned to Justin.  “You seem sure it’s not this Seth person.  Why?”

“I told you.  He’d have killed me.  No question.  I would not be here, talking to you.  Whatever’s going on, he’d be the _last_ person I’d look at.”

“Which leaves us with nothing,” Zach said quietly.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t quiet enough.

“We’ll find Clay, son,” Deputy Standall said.  “Seems even civilians are working around the clock on this.  I know there’s still some groups out going door-to-door at this point.”

“Did you find the car?” Tony asked.

“Not yet.  We’re spreading out into a county-wide search for it.  There’s a BOLO out as well.  Given what was reported, it’s a car that will stand out – despite the front-end damage it has to have, given what we saw of the boys’ Prius.”

“Clay could be running out of time, sir,” Tony argued.  “Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

“At this point?  Hope someone comes forward.  Pray he’s safe.  Or for a miracle.”  The deputy picked up his things and started for the door.  “Alex, I expect you home before your mother gets there.  She’s worried about you.”

“Okay.”  Alex’s tone sounded anything but.  He rolled his eyes.  “I’m fine, and she wants to check up on me?  I mean, seriously?  I _have_ a phone.”

“You heard me, Alex.”  Then his father paused.  “Justin’s phone…”

“It’s not here,” Matt said, looking around the room.

“No, it’s in evidence.  But I wonder…”  Bill reached for his own phone.  “Hey, can you clone Justin Foley’s phone and get it over to me here at Mercy Hospital?  Uh-huh.  Mm.  Okay, as soon as you can.  Thanks.”  Looking at his expectant audience, he explained, “I’m wondering if someone hasn’t tried to call Justin about Clay’s disappearance.  We can’t take his phone out of evidence, but we _can_ make a clone of it to use, in case someone _were_ to call.”

“You think they would?” Justin asked, leaning forward a little.  He winced as he did so.  “Call, I mean?”

“I think so.  This was no accident.  If you ask me, I think someone’s behind this, and we need to figure it out fast.”

“We’re working on it, Mr. Standall,” Zach said.  “Believe me.”

“It’s a longshot,” Lainie said.  “But we’ve done more with less.”

“Yeah,” Justin agreed. His voice was starting to give out. “Let’s do it.”


	15. Chapter 15

**November 18 th, 11:30 pm**

Clay woke to the sound of a camera shutter sounding in his ear.  Still groggy from exhaustion, he stirred slightly.  “What the…?” he said, his voice barely a whisper.  The roof of his mouth was dry, and the container of water he’d been allowed had been drained hours ago.

“Fuck.  These ain’t workin’.  Too dark.”  The door slammed shut.  The lock fell into place. 

The teen pulled himself to a sitting position.  A shiver over took Clay, rattling his teeth a little.  The temperature had dropped considerably, and now he was feeling the loss of his shirt.  It had become a makeshift towel earlier, and had been soaked with sweat.  Clay blindly reached out for the garment, hoping it would still be serviceable.

Just then the door opened again, announcing his captor’s presence with a loud _thud_ as it slammed into the outer wall.  “Get up,” the man barked. 

Slowly, Clay rose.  He wobbled a little on his feet.  “Jesus Christ, are you drunk?”

“No.” The younger man knew he was anything but.  “Dizzy.”

The laugh grew to a deep chuckle.  Something hard and flimsy struck Clay in the chest.  “Put those on.  Don’t get any ideas.”  A metallic _click_ sounded, and Clay swallowed thickly.  It took a great effort to put the thin pair of flip-flops onto his feet.  His head was pounding, and he would gladly consider murdering even his own mother for a glass of water. 

“Follow me.  You step where I tell you.  Try anything stupid, I let you bleed to death.”

 _You won’t get a dime for a corpse,_ Clay thought bitterly.  He wisely remained silent.

It seemed to take forever to reach the endless sea of glass shards.  Millions of flecks of light twinkled and blinked up at Clay, hurting his light-sensitive eyes.  His prison had no light source other than the tiny holes left in the walls, and it was like being buried in a deep, hot, airtight crypt.  A scraping sound caught the teen’s attention, and a pair of bright blue eyes managed to see his captor pushing some of the glass aside with his feet.  “Right behind me, understand?”

Clay nodded.  He was so dizzy, confused, and disoriented from the lack of water, lack of light and intense heat that he feared he was suffering from heatstroke.  He remembered the year at Liberty, his freshman year, when the seniors had to graduate in 104 degree heat.  The fire department had finally soaked most of the audience in the bleachers when five attendees has to be sent to Mercy Hospital by ambulance.  He thought now about how cool and refreshing even a mist from a fire hose would be.

The trek seemed interminable.  Finally, Clay was shoved forcefully into a hard folding chair.  Before he could even orient himself in the seat, someone grabbed his hands, forced them behind his back, and pulled a thick plastic zip tie around them.

“Now, let’s see…” his captor said, picking up his…phone?  Actual camera?  Where the hell was Tyler Down when you could use him?  The whirring _clicks_ resumed, and Clay tried desperately to focus his eyes in front of him.  “You look like shit, kid,” the man said finally.  “I might have to mark you down.”

Clay scowled.  “Kind of you,” he muttered.

 _Might._ The young man’s brain latched onto the word.  _Was it possible?  Could he really be thinking about letting me…_

Clay gave himself a shake, disorienting himself further.  _No.  He’ll kill me first._

“Let’s see,” the thin, wiry man said, pulling something from his back pocket.  “Phones, nowadays.  I bet you couldn’t even call up that little pissant you let in your fancy house without looking at it.”

Cool air rushed in through an opening – _a door?  A window, maybe?_ – and it drew Clay’s attention.  To his right sat an open doorway.  The floor between the folding chair he sat in and the gateway to freedom glittered like gold in a comic book. Clay wiggled his toes, feeling the flip-flops tap against the soles of his feet.

 _I can make it._ He struggled to sit up.  The cool air was helping him overcome the dizziness from before.  “What are you doing?”

“Proof of life, dipshit.  Nice thing about email – hard to trace.  A few photos should work.”

Clay’s mind raced.  “Not really.  I mean…”  He bit his lip.  Blue eyes flittered towards the doorway.  “My mom, in court?  She could argue that you took them days before.  That I was already dead when you contacted them.”  _God, I hope I’m right.  Maybe I’ll ask Mom,_ if _I get out of this shit._

“Your _mom_?  Come on, kid.”  The strike to Clay’s face seemed to come from nowhere.  “Tell me another one.”

“I-it’s true.  I swear.  She’s a lawyer.  Criminal work.”  _That_ was a lie.  Clay knew that before she’d gotten into her work with Dennis Vasquez, Lainie Jensen had excelled in litigation.  He hoped the same skill applied to both types of legal work, for his sake.

“Lawyer, huh?”  The man paused a moment.  For the first time since he’d arrived, Clay felt a glimmer of hope swell inside him.

“Y-yeah.  She’s good.”  _Please, God, let this be the right thing to say._ “How do you think she got Justin out of jail so fast?”

A dark scowl clouded the man’s face.   Clay flinched as a hand drew near him.  “Fine, then.  What do _you_ suggest, if you’re the smart asshole around here?”

 _Besides the obvious?_   “Phone call.  Or…or a text.  They’ve got timestamps.  Hard to disprove, unless you’re some kind of computer tech genius or something…I think?”  Clay hated the way his voice was rising in pitch, nearly babbling.  _Anything to get him to turn around…come on…_

“Yeah, a text might work.  You’ve got a nice phone, kid…even records video.  Got anything you wanna tell those parents of yours?  Or maybe that fuck-up that got you into this mess?”

 _Oh, Jesus fuck, no._ Clay’s heart plummeted into his nauseated stomach.  _No, God…_

“Go on.”  The gun leveled right at Clay’s forehead.  “Talk.  If you wanna keep living, _talk._ ”

 _Fuck me!  The hell am I supposed to say?_ A sore, sweat-filled, terrified face blindly looked around the room for a clue – _any_ kind of tiny detail that might get people closer to finding him.  Clay’s eyes settled on a small grove of small trees just outside the window.  They were unmistakable, even in the dark.

The phone bore down in his direction.  Clay couldn’t move.  He couldn’t knock the gun out of his captor’s hands.  He couldn’t even defend himself if he were to be struck again.  “Mom, Dad, I…I guess this is it.  If this goes bad, remember that I love you, even if I was a dick sometimes.  Justin…”  Clay took a breath.  _Fuck, I_ really _hope he gets this._ “…despite being a complete fuck-up sometimes, I’m glad we got the chance to be brothers.  Hannah always liked you.  She…she told me about when you took her to pick those oranges out of that tree once?  You know, first date?  I mean, I…I wanted to kill you for it.  But…she really liked those oranges.  Said they were the best thing she’d ever gotten on a date before.”  The teen’s throat grew thick with emotion, and though tears pricked at his eyes, Clay didn’t let them fall.  “Take care of Mom and Dad.  Do _not_ do something stupid, understand?”

The phone turned, and his captor spoke.  Clay tuned out the words.  His attention was focused more on the open door, and the fact that the wiry man was slowly turning away from him.

_Just a little more…come on, a little more…fuck, Clay, move!_

Within seconds, Clay picked himself up, wobbled a fraction of a second on unsteady legs, and bolted for the open door.  There was no sign of his captor’s henchmen to be seen.  Short legs made it to the threshold of the entrance, and Clay darted into the night.


	16. Chapter 16

“Two hundred and fifty thousand, motherfucker.  Find a way to cough it up in two days, or this _will_ be the last thing your new brother here ever says to you.  I know how to reach you.”  Seth turned quickly to see an empty chair and a half-bound body stumbling out of the open doorway.

 _“Fuck!”_ Seth screamed.  His ‘employees’ had left for the evening, and Quentin was out scraping the last of the new batch together in the barn.  Without hesitation, the drug dealer let out a sharp whistle as he ran in pursuit.  “Hey, kid!  Get back here!”

The sounds of little feet charged before him, racing towards their prey.  His dogs barked fiercely as they caught the kid’s scent.  “Oh, _fuck!”_ the kid screamed, making a beeline for an abandoned truck.  It was parked next to an old tool shed, a forgotten remnant of the farmhouse once the barn had gone up.  Seth watched as the kid managed to climb inside the truck bed, crawl up onto the cab and leap onto the flat roof of the small structure – all while having his hands bound behind him.  Even the most agile of the dogs couldn’t get over the gate of the truck bed that fast, and so they settled for surrounding their quarry’s perch. 

“Now what, fuckhead?” Seth chortled.  “How the fuck you gonna get down?”

Between heaving breaths, the kid yelled, “Call them off!  Call them off!  Please!”

Seth shouted a command, and the barking ceased.  All four of his guards, however, maintained their positions.  “Looks like you’ll have to learn a lesson for the night, asshole.  I _told_ you not to try and run.”

The kid mumbled something.  Seth swore he heard _“Fuck you”_ as part of it.

“Yeah, I think a night out here’ll teach you something.  Fucking rich kids.  Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two about _real_ folks, about _real_ problems.”  He snickered.  “Sweet dreams.  Better hope it doesn’t rain.”  Before he turned to go in for the night, he added, “I’d think twice about coming down from there.  Those dogs are well-trained.  They’re also pretty hungry.  Keep that in mind.”  Seth knew the meat his dogs had eaten earlier was just an appetizer.  Keeping them just on the edge made them more willing to go for the prize later.

As he entered the old farmhouse, a light rain began to fall.  Seth smiled.  He had a video to send. The kid would be just fine.

* * *

 

The first thing Clay did once the rain started to fall was open his mouth.  He let the steady drops fall into his parched throat, and as they intensified he soon felt his thirst slake.  Before long, however, the rain lessened, and ended as abruptly as it had come.  All that was left was water against the flat metal roof where he was trapped.  A chilly breeze intensified as it mixed with the water than clung to his bare skin like tiny fishhooks. Clay's jeans --the only article of clothing still on his person, aside from his underwear -- were soaked through.  His teeth chattered roughly, and he pulled at the zip tie that bound his wrists.  It wouldn’t budge.

“Fuck,” he cursed softly.  Taking a breath, Clay gently scooted himself towards the edge of the roof nearest the truck, only to see a giant Rottweiler sitting primly in the truck bed.  The teen wondered how the animal had managed to get inside, but put the thought out of his mind when he heard it growl.

“Okay, okay, I’m backing up,” he said, hoping like hell he didn’t piss the creature off.  Just behind him, another growl echoed, and Clay peered out to see some sort of angry mutt, baring its teeth in warning.

 _Christ.  Why didn’t Justin_ tell _me this asshole was a dog trainer?_

Probably because _he_ didn’t know, idiot, his mind rebuked. 

The clouds above him moved on, and a faint scattering of stars twinkled down over Clay.  _There’s no way off this roof,_ he realized.  _There’s a dog at every exit.  A mean, vicious, man-eating dog._ He shivered.  The dizziness and nausea were starting to lessen, but his stomach still churned into knots. 

_He’ll let me down in the morning…right?_

Clay chose a star, closed his eyes, and made a wish.  _Please, let me survive this.  Please let me go home._

* * *

 

**November 19 th, 12:30 am**

The sound of a phone buzzing tore Alex from his uneasy slumber.  He had once again volunteered to stay the night with Justin in hopes of finding some answers.  _“Go home, Mrs. Jensen,”_ he’d said.  _“Come back in the morning, when you’ve had a chance to sleep.”_

 _“That’s a nice thought, honey, but_ you _haven’t gotten any sleep either,”_ she’d argued.

 _“Yeah, well, I got a lot of it last year,”_ he’d countered.  _“Besides, I’m good at sleeping in hospitals.  Ask anyone.”_

Across from him, Tony Padilla lay uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair once occupied by Mr. Jensen.  _“Like I’m gonna let that idiot stay by himself,”_ he’d said, pointing first at Justin and then at Alex.  _“Either of ‘em.  Probably get into more trouble just sitting here…”_

Though he didn’t know Tony as well as the rest of his friends, Alex liked the guy.  He was pretty straightforward, and it was refreshing after that horrible year of secrets, lies, and assholes pretending to be upright citizenry.  Though, he had to agree with Clay – there were times Tony could come off as a very unhelpful Yoda-figure when he wanted.  Still, he was a friend, and Alex was glad for him. 

The buzzing sound repeated.  Alex pulled his phone out of his hoodie only to find it black.  “Hey, Tony?” he called out in a stage whisper, hoping to rouse the older boy.  “Tony, wake up.”

A string of mumbled Spanish greeted Alex’s ears.  “What?”

“Check your phone.”

Rubbing his eyes, Tony pulled it out of his jacket.  “Nothing,” he said.

“I could swear I heard a buzzing sound…”  The noise made itself heard again.  “See?”

“There, right next to you,” Tony said, pointing at the little device now madly jumping around the roll-away table near Justin’s head.  “Can you open it?”

Alex picked up the phone, flicking open the screen.  “No locks.  It’s a clone, remember?  Easy access.”

“Good.  I don’t wanna wake him up yet.”  Justin had fallen back to sleep once Zach had gone home.  The taller kid had wanted to stay, but his mother had been insistent.  _“His mom’s kind of uptight,”_ Justin had explained.  _“It’s a thing, I guess.  Zach really hates it.  I mean, she’s worse than Clay.”_

Tony didn’t think there could be _anyone_ more uptight than Clay Jensen, especially when he questioned himself.  He prayed to the Virgin Mother that his best friend wasn’t stuck in his Clay-hole, fretting over something trivial when his life could be at stake.

“He got an email,” Alex said.

“Can you get into _that?_ ”

A pixie-like face scrunched.  “Maybe.”  Alex got into the mail server okay, but got stuck at the password.  “Fuck.  What the hell would his password be?”

“I am _not_ waking this motherfucker up, Standall,” Tony said.  “It took _forever_ to get him to sleep!”  The thought that Clay was in danger, was out there somewhere hurt, in pain, or being threatened had kept Justin on edge.  Tony knew that the rest would help him, but it was hard to fault the guy.  He couldn’t imagine what might be going through the newest addition to the Jensen family’s head right now.  Life experiences could be a _bitch,_ and Justin’s…

“Hold on.  Let me…yes!”  A self-satisfied smirk crossed Alex’s face.  “I _knew_ he was still in love with Jessica.”  The smile faded.  “Probably always will be.”

“Really?  _This_ is what you’re getting hung up on now?”

“Right.”  Alex straightened his back a bit.  He flicked to the server’s inbox.  “New email.  There’s an attachment.”

“Who’s it from?”

“No idea.  There's no name on it.”

Tony frowned.  “Don’t open it,” he said sharply, startling the younger boy.  “I got a bad feeling.  Just…put the phone down, and let's call someone.”

“Like who?  We just got the Jensens to go home too!”

Broad shoulders shrugged against stark-black hair, and the star chain tattoo near Tony’s ear crinkled a little.   “I don’t care.  Call ‘em, or I will.  Better yet, _you_ call your dad.  _I’ll_ call the Jensens.”

“And tell them what, exactly?  That you’ve got a feeling, or that we broke into Justin’s phone?”

“Just…do it.  I’m serious, Standall.  Something tells me this thing’s about to get real interesting, _real_ fucking fast.”

The look on Tony’s face sealed it for Alex.  He put Justin’s phone down.  “Okay.  I’ll call.”


	17. Chapter 17

  **November 19 th, 1:55 am**

Matthew Jensen sat in the small waiting room, head buried in his hands.  Minutes before, he and Lainie saw the horrific video that had been emailed to their second child.  The sight of Clay --bound, battered, exhausted, and terrified--would haunt him for years to come.  When he heard what could possibly be his first child’s last words to them, Matt’s crumbling composure finally broke.

_Take care of Mom and Dad.  Do_ not _do anything stupid._

How could someone process that?  The idea that their child – their _child_ , for Christ’s sakes! – was looking at his impending demise, only to have their last thought be about someone else’s well-being?

A part of Matt’s heart was shattered.  A part was overwhelmed.  And as much as he hated to admit it, a very, very small part wanted to slap the hell out of his second child.  The second he saw Justin’s reaction to the man giving those demands, he _knew._   Whether it had been intended or just an unfortunate chance, Justin’s actions with that… _monster_ …could cost Clay his life.

Two hundred and fifty _thousand_ dollars.  A quarter of a million.  Even if he and Lainie sold, pawned, or mortgaged everything they owned, they could _never_ reach that amount.  Not in two _years,_ let alone two _days._

A part of Matt understood, now, why it was Justin’s instinct to run at the first sign of trouble.  He shook his head.  How many monsters had come before _this_ one?  Were they worse, or just marginally better?  Wiping his eyes, he stared through the little window of the room, catching a glimpse of Tony Padilla standing at the corner of the hall.  The young man’s phone was up to his ear, and he could tell the conversation was intense.  Snippets of Tony’s voice floated in the room, and the Spanish parts were too fast for Matt to consider translating.

He turned and looked into Justin’s room.  The boy had curled into a protective ball.  His greenish-blue eyes were darting around, in a way Matt had come to know well.  Justin was looking for a way out.  Between Lainie, Deputy Standall and his friend Alex, there was no chance for him to attempt an escape.

The thought of Justin _running_ – trying like hell to avoid the mess he’d caused – sparked an ire in the older man.  Running wasn’t an answer.  Not anymore.

With that, Matt rose and entered the hospital room.  “I need a minute alone with Justin,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.  “Right now.  Please.”

“Come on,” Lainie said, ushering the others out.  “We can talk out here.”

“I needed to send a text anyway,” Alex said.  “I’m going down the hall for a minute.”

Once the room cleared, Matt pulled a chair next to Justin’s bed.  “Did Clay know?” he asked.  “About the money.  Did he know?”  His voice grew sterner as he spoke.

Justin swallowed thickly.  “He knew…about the first one.  Not about the second.”  The boy had the grace to look ashamed.  Matt stared into the boy’s eyes, and found guilt in there as well.  

“You never planned to come back, did you?”  It was more a statement than a question.

Brown curls shook softly.  “No.  Neither time.”  Justin took a breath.  “This is all my fault.  If I hadn’t…it should be _me_ , not Clay.  He…he doesn’t deserve this.  Any of it.  Neither do you.”

“Stop right there.”  Matt held a hand out.  “I know you’re thinking about running.  Don’t you _dare_.”

“I’m…I’m not.  I _swear_ , I’m not.  I got Clay into this, and I’m gonna get him out.” Justin bit his lip.  “But I understand…if you don’t want me, anymore.”

The admission pained Matt.  Only moments before, he’d actually considered such a thing.  The thought of this child, and all his troubles, causing so much heartache…he’d actually considered putting him back into the system.

“I took the money because I was pissed, like I said,” Justin continued.  “And when Clay and Tony found me, I had to admit I stole the thousand bucks because they were gonna send me right back to that asshole.  _He_ was the reason I was homeless in the first place!”  The young man’s face turned red, and then he softened.  “The second time, I saw what my shit was doing to your family.  My fuck-ups.  My problems.  I guess…I guess I thought it was easier for everyone if I just disappeared again.”

Matt took a breath.  “Does it solve the problem?  Disappearing, I mean?”

Justin shrugged.  “No.  But I know that _now._   _Before,_ it was…it was just how we did things.”  A hand flipped over and wiggled a little.  “Late on the rent?  Move in the middle of the night.  Someone chasing you for money or…whatever?  Get lost for a while.  Need to avoid a beating or an argument?  Be somewhere else.”

A sigh escaped Matt’s lungs.  “Why do you think I wouldn’t want you?  That _we_ wouldn’t want you?”

“Come on, Matt.  Clay’s gonna die because of _me_!  Your _real_ son!  Would _you_ wanna keep me around, knowing that I was the reason Clay wasn’t here anymore?”

Frankly, Matt had considered that too.  For just a moment, he had considered it.   But he had considered something else as well.  “You’ve never had one minute of stability in your life, have you?  Until you came to us, nothing’s ever been certain for you, has it?”

The two fell into an uneasy silence.  Finally Justin shook his head slowly.  “No, sir.  Not one thing.  Except that my mom was gonna get high, and there’d be some asshole with her.”

Matt’s heart broke.  It was being ground to bits—for his first son, still at the mercy of a crazed madman. It ached for his second son, who thought the best solution to the problem was to make himself disappear, and only because no one had taught him to stand up for anything in his life.  He guessed that testifying at the Baker trial, finally coming clean about both his and the Walker kid’s actions, was the first thing he’d done in his life where he’d accepted responsibility rather than finally run away.

_Though apparently, he’d tried,_ Matt reminded himself.  _More than once._

“If I could trade places with Clay, I would.  In a minute.  But I can’t.”  Tears began to form in Justin’s eyes, and Matt put a hand solidly on his son's shoulder.  “There’s no way we can come up with that kind of money.  I know we can’t.”

_We._ The word struck Matt.  _He’s not thinking like someone who’s alone…not anymore.  Maybe being with us has been a good thing._

“What are we gonna do?”  The tears fell freely now, and Justin’s already battered face became a wet, splotchy mess. 

For once, Matt didn’t have an answer.


	18. Chapter 18

**November 19 th, 9am**

Alex’s mass text had gone out in the wee hours of the morning.  _Clay kidnapped,_ it had read.  _Taken by J’s mom’s ex.  Wants a quarter million for him.  What are we gonna do?_

The school was in an uproar.  As Jessica walked the near-empty halls, she saw small groups of kids placing bills into containers of all sorts:  paint cans, baseball hats, mason jars.  Snippets of conversations as she passed caught her attention too.

_A quarter million?  No way._

_It’s true.  I guess Jensen looks pretty bad._

_But why him?  I mean…really?_

_Foley, man.  Got himself into some shit, I guess._

_But seriously?  Why go after…?_

_Who knows?  But I ain’t lookin’ at one more dead kid in this fuckin’ place.  Not when I can do somethin’ about it._

Further down the hall, more conversations buzzed.

 _Who the fuck has_ that _kind of money?  I mean, they don’t seem like the type…_

 _Dumbass, there’s a difference between_ doing okay _and_ fucking rich. _Jensen’s family is the first, not the second.  Asshole._ Jessica saw a paper bag going around that group, and the kid put a twenty in it.  _I mean, he’s all right, Jensen.  Not close with ‘im or anything, but he’s solid._

The kid’s friend threw in a five.  _I guess._

_Hey, anyone who can bring down scum like Bryce fucking Walker can’t be all bad, right?_

That last comment surprised Jessica.  Sure, Clay had gained a reputation as a crusader for social justice, but she hadn’t realized the story had gotten _that_ far.  Although, when the tapes had been released, _everyone_ heard Clay getting nearly beaten to death in the course of getting Bryce’s confession.  “Tape 14” had gotten the most hits out of all the tapes, and it was then the attitudes began to change at Liberty High.

Reaching second, she slumped into her seat.  A sophomore girl came up to her with an envelope.  “Hey, I was wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“Um, my friends and I…we were hoping you could take this.  To Clay Jensen’s family, I mean.  It’s awful, what’s happened.  I…I mean, we hope you find him.”  The girl pushed the envelope into Jessica’s hands and hastily ran to her seat, her face scarlet.

Curious, Jessica opened the envelope.  Inside was five hundred dollars in small bills.  She looked at the girl, hunched over her desk, talking to a group – possibly her friends.  They took turns glancing over at her, and Jessica managed a smile.  _Thank you,_ she mouthed just as the teacher walked in.

The sophomores smiled back shyly.  Then they focused on the lecture.

* * *

 

**10 am**

_“Zach, what you’re trying to do is admirable, but I’m afraid using your college fund is just not possible.”_

The younger man scowled, banging a fist against the desk in his father’s old study.  “Why not?  There’s thousands in there.  I can get scholarships.  Columbia’s already offered me early admission.  Stanford and UDub too.  It’s money that can actually do some _good_ for a change!”

Wei Han, the family’s accountant and longtime friend, sounded sad. _“Your parents set the fund up as a trust, Zach.  Its payouts are quite specific.  Only to a college can that money be paid.  I’m sorry.”_

Zach laughed bitterly.  “Sorry.  Everyone’s fucking sorry. _“Sorry about your dad, Zach.”  “Sorry about your friend, Zach.”  “That must be awful, about that girl.”_   Tears began to well in the boy’s eyes.  “I’ve lost too many people, Mr. Han.  Too many friends.  I can’t…I can’t lose another one.”

_“If there were something I could do…”_

“Well, do I have any…I dunno, savings bonds?  Stocks?  Anything that could help?”  Zach sighed.  “This guy…the one who took my friend…he doesn’t understand the difference between being well off and being rich.  My friends’ family…they’re not rich.”  _Not like me,_ he thought to himself.  _Me, who could sell our house and get four times the amount needed, easy._ Zach privately wondered if the stipulation about the college money hadn’t been his mother’s doing.  He absolutely _loathed_ her ‘everything’s fine’ attitude and her insistence that he be around people ‘like him.’  When she’d insisted that Bryce Walker was an upstanding citizen worth his time and gratitude, he’d about wanted to punch her. 

 _I don’t need friends like that,_ he thought.  _I need friends like Clay.  And Alex.  And Justin._

_“I’m sorry.  Although I do know your car is…quite valuable.  Have you considered selling it?  You wouldn’t get what your father paid for it, I’m afraid—depreciation is standard in all automobiles, but it would still bring a fair sum.  It might help.”_

Zach glanced out the window at his Audi.  It had been a gift for his sixteenth birthday – ironically, the _last_ present he’d been given by his father.  _“Every child needs at least one new car,”_ George Dempsey had insisted.  _“And an Audi… well, there’s nothing better out there.  It’s not flashy, but it’ll last you at least through college.”_

How wrong he’d been.  Three weeks later, he and his dad were in that horrific accident.  Zach’s life had been a shitshow ever since.

_“It’s just a thought.  I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.  Good day, Zach, and good luck.”_

“Goodbye.”  Zach hung the phone up and wandered out to the kitchen, sitting at the bar table, his head in his hands.  The irony was not lost on him.  In order to help Clay – the new friend that had shown him a better way to live his life – he had to give up one of the last remembrances of his beloved father.  Zach had been close with his dad.  He was nothing like his mother.  Even now, he could hear his father telling him:  _A car is just a car, Zach.  Friends, family – these are the things that matter.  A car can’t help you through the bad times.  People – good people – can._

Zach stood up and walked into his bedroom.  There was a photo of him and his father, at the docks, taken when Zach had been about fourteen.  They had just been out on a day cruise, and they had managed to catch a few nice fish.  The photo was of them with one of those fish, all twelve inches of it.  Next to the photo lay a gold chain that had belonged to his grandfather.  _It goes to the first boy in a generation,_ his father had explained.  _When I go, it will be yours._   His father had always worn it.  It had a little symbol on it that looked like a fish.  _Your great-great grandfather was a fisherman, Zach,_ his dad had told him. _He wanted better for his sons.  And it has happened, a little bit, each generation.  I have high hopes for you, son.  But above all, I want you to be a good_ person. _Money means nothing if you are an evil man.  A good person can get by on nothing, and still be fulfilled._

 _Why couldn’t he have taught Mom that?_ Zach wondered.  He picked up the chain, fingering it.  He still had these small things—the photo, the chain.  _I think you’d be okay with me selling the car._ Zach smiled a little.  _Just as long as I got another one to get by._

His mind made up, he picked up his phone.

* * *

 

**10:30 am**

Tony Padilla stood outside a neat hacienda-style dwelling, eyes sadly looking at his beloved Mustang.  _I’m doing the right thing,_ he kept telling himself.  _This is the right thing to do._

“Ah, Antonio,” an elderly man said warmly, coming from the house.  “It is good to see you.”

Fingers shaking, Tony reached into the glove compartment.  “I have the papers right here.”

 _“Bueno._   I have had my eye on this car a long, long time.  You would do well to consider a career in restoration, I think.”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m considering it.”  A lump began to form in Tony’s throat.  “Thank you for doing this, _Senor_ Mendes.  You have _no_ idea.”

“He must be a good friend, to part with something so personal, Antonio.”  A sad look crossed a slightly wrinkled face.  “It seems a shame…”

“My friend?  He’s worth a hundred of these.”  Tony worked hard at stamping down the emotion he felt.  “Clay’s like another brother to me, and believe me, that is saying something.”  He shook his head to hide the tears that threatened to fall.  “How I got mixed up with an uptight middle-class white kid is beyond me, but it’s been one of the best moves I’ve ever made.”

“The best ones often are.  I should know.”  He took Tony’s free hand and clapped it in between his own.  “My Adela, I would have done the same for her.”

“Thank you.  From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”  The younger man slid the title of the Mustang into Senor Mendes’s grip.  “I know she’ll be well taken care of, here.”

“ _Si._ She will.”  The older man paused.  “Before you go, Antonio, I’d like you to have a look at something, if you have a moment.”

“For you?  Absolutely.  What can I do for you?”

The pair walked towards a large set of pole barns.  Tony knew the elderly man kept a small collection of collectable and sometimes priceless automobiles within them.  A second pair served as a working garage to keep Senor Mendes’s collection in working order.  “I came into her just about a month ago,” he explained, pulling a protective cover off of what looked to Tony to be the barest of working bones of a 1968 Shelby GT500KR.  “The work will be enormous, but she will be a fine automobile once she’s finished.”

Tony whistled, a low, appreciative sound.  “She sure will.”

“Perhaps _you_ would like to do the work?  She runs fair, and is serviceable enough for the road.  Her details need work, though.”

Brown eyes widened.  “Me?”

 _“Si._ What I’m offering is a trade – you may take the Shelby, Antonio.  Along with the money.  I hope you are able to help your friend, and I know the Shelby will have a good man to look after her.”

The young man was stunned.  “I don’t…really, I…I don’t know what to say…”

Senor Mendes smiled.  “I have the papers drawn up.  Come inside and get them before you leave, hm?”

“Thank you, so much!”

“It is _I_ who should be thanking _you_ , Antonio.  My young relatives, not one of them would do as you are doing for another person – especially one who is not related by blood.  You are willing to give up your most prized possession to save another, and you do it without a thought.  My young relatives should learn from you.  Perhaps they will, one day.”  The gentleman turned and started toward the house.  Tony followed close behind.

* * *

 

**4pm**

Jessica tore through the drawers of her room.  She’d been through the office, the kitchen, the junk drawer that her Mom usually put a few dollars in change in when she wasn’t thinking, and now searched desperately for any kind of money that could go with the five hundred some complete strangers had given her in second to help Clay.

Nothing.  Not one red cent.  Jessica slumped into her desk chair, staring at the seat where Clay had sat months before, encouraging her to come forward with her sordid tale.  At the time, she’d known he’d meant well, but…it had been painful to think about for herself, let alone for others.

 _No one knew how determined you were then, Clay,_ she thought.  _No one had a damned clue._

Wherever he was, Jessica prayed that her friend was drawing on that determined streak to get him through his ordeal.  Clasping her hands together, she sent a quick prayer for Clay’s safe return.

“Honey?  Jessica, are you up here?”

Jessica wiped her eyes.  She didn’t want her dad to see her cry.  “Yeah, Dad.  I’m up here.”

Mr. Davis gently pushed the door to his daughter’s room open.  “How’re you doing, kiddo?”

“I’m just worried, Dad.  I assume you’ve heard?”

“About the Jensen boy?  Yeah, I’ve heard.”  Jessica heard her father’s footsteps cross the floor, and suddenly he filled the space where Clay once sat.  “I know he’s a friend of yours.  How are his parents holding up?”

“Like, how do you think?”  Jessica sighed.  “I think it’s worse, though, because…”

“That boy.”

“He has a name, Dad.”

Mr. Davis shook his head.  “I never understood why those people took him in.  Maybe they see something I don’t.”  He smiled sadly at his daughter.  “I know _you_ do.  And I can’t figure it out, but I can respect it, I suppose.”

Jessica shrugged.  “I think…I think it’s because Justin was willing to take that responsibility, Dad.  Yeah, late, but he did.”  She shivered a little.  “Plus, given everything…I wouldn’t want _anyone_ to live like he had to.  Especially earlier this year.”

At that, Mr. Davis softened.  “No one deserves to be abused.  Or homeless.”  Then he composed himself.  “But no one deserves to be raped and lied to, either.”

“I know.  And I can’t really forgive him for that.  But the _why_?  At least I can _understand_ it, now.  Not forgive, but understand.”  Jessica bit her lip.  “But Clay…Clay’s been nothing but kind to me.  He was, like, the only person last year who was trying to tell me the truth, and I called him a liar for it!”

“He’s a good man, this Clay, is he?”

Jessica nodded.  “One of the best.  Like Alex.”

Mr. Davis smiled.  “Now _that_ boy, I like.”

“I know.”

“Jess?”

The girl turned to see her brothers standing at her doorway.  “What’s up, guys?”

“Um, we…we wanted you to have this.”  Her brother Elijah sat two piggy banks on Jessica’s desk.  Mr. Davis sat up a little, but said nothing.

“What’s this for?”  Jessica was confused.

“Our friend Max’s brother was talking earlier, before school.  Then we saw the news.”

“He’s a friend of yours, that guy, Clay, isn’t he?” her baby brother Nathanial asked.  “I remember he was here once…”

Jessica nodded, tears running down her face.  “Yeah, he is.”

“Well, maybe this will help him.  Take it.  Please?”

The tears fell steadily down the girl’s face as she pulled both her brothers into a giant hug.  “Thank you.  So much.  I know Mr. and Mrs. Jensen will really appreciate it.”  She pulled the envelope from her pocket containing the five hundred from earlier.  “Some kids at school gave me this,” she explained to her father’s questioning look.  “I think I should take it over to the Jensen’s.  Alex said they’ve gone back to their place now.  They just released Justin from the hospital.”

“I’ll drive,” Mr. Davis said.  “Call your mother.  I have a feeling she’ll meet us there.”  At his daughter’s puzzled look, he said, “Honey, do you really think you kids are the only ones with friends?  I’m sure the Jensens need someone to lean on too.  At least we have a few things in common, yeah?”

Jessica thought about that.  “I guess so.  I’ll call Mom.”  She looked at her brothers.  “Come on, guys.  Get your coats.  How about you give this to them yourself?”

“Okay!”

As the Davis family headed down the stairs, Jessica stared a moment.  She was so lucky to have a family like hers.  She wouldn’t have made it through the last few months without them.


	19. Chapter 19

**November 19 th, 5:30pm**

Justin sat in the den, curled up on the sofa.  He’d wanted to go up to his room, but it felt…empty, without Clay.  He smiled thinly.  _How the fuck did a kid I wanted to murder_ myself _become so important to me?_

He thought about that a moment. 

It was:  Clay giving him his first actual meal in months, while telling him to stay quiet to avoid being found.

It was:  A concerned boy taking extreme measures to get him off the poison he’d turned to in order to forget.

It was:  The scrawny kid standing next to the shower, just so he could clean himself up for the first time in months.

It was:  four words on a screen.  _I need you.  Please._

He thought about that too.  His mother had always ‘needed’ Justin, if only to get food or pay a bill.  His girlfriends had ‘needed’ him, and he’d been glad to reciprocate.  Bryce had ‘needed’ Justin, but only to use him as a way to continue with his sick and twisted depravities.

Clay was, literally, the _only_ person who had needed him for something, and it hadn’t even been for himself.  He’d wanted Bryce destroyed, but he wanted it for Hannah.  For Mrs. Baker.  For Jess, even if she hadn’t wanted it herself at first.

 _And how do I repay him?  I do stupid, fucked-up shit and put him in a fuck-ton of danger._ Justin scowled.  _He’s gonna die.  I know Seth.  He’ll wait until he gets his money, and then he’ll kill him.  Probably make me watch, too._

The message Clay had left puzzled Justin a little.  The parts about Matt and Lainie were pretty straightforward, but the message to him was strange.  He’d said as much to Deputy Standall when they came home.

_Home.  When did the Jensen’s place become home?_

Probably the same time you realized they were your _family_ , idiot, his mind rebuked.  It had taken Justin several months to come to the realization that, no matter how badly he fucked up, Matt and Lainie would always take him back.  He already realized Clay loved him like a brother, and had since that fateful day at Hannah’s wake.

Justin thought about his conversation with Matt, before they left the hospital.  It pained him to admit that, for a brief minute, he’d considered running.  Only the realization that the Jensen’s would lose _two_ sons instead of one kept him from attempting it.  That, and he knew Clay deserved better.  He would always be in the older boy’s debt, for picking him up from the shit that had been his life and giving him the chance to have something more.

“Hey,” a voice said, breaking Justin’s train of thought.  He looked up to see Alex standing in the doorway.  “Could have told me you were down here.  Would’ve saved me the hike up the stairs.”

“Yeah, sorry.”  Justin sat up and made room for his friend.  “I couldn’t…I couldn’t go up there.  It’s not the same, without…”

“I get it.”  Alex leaned back.  The sofa was delightfully squishy.  It was Justin’s second favorite seat in the house, after his bed.  “Did you pay attention to that message Clay left for you?  In the video?”

“Kind of.”  Justin’s face flushed a little.  “I was more focused on…other things.”

“Oh.  Yeah.  So, it was him?  Seth, I mean?”

Justin nodded.  “Part of me is pissed.  I mean, enough to kill the bastard myself.  But a bigger part of me…Alex, I’m scared shitless.  I ran for a _reason._ ”

“Why’d you come back?  The second time, I mean?” 

Thin shoulders shrugged.  “Clay said he needed me.  And that was about the time I realized I had to quit doing fucked-up things, if I was gonna ever change.  So I stayed.”  He gave a dark chuckle.  “And look what _that_ did.  Guess I’m always destined to fuck things up, aren’t I?”

“Maybe.  Or maybe this one’s not on you.  Ever think of that?”

Justin scowled.  “How is this _not_ my fault?  I mean, I went _looking_ for the asshole’s cash the second time.  Even made my mother bail out of there.  Not like she didn’t need to already.”

“Have you talked to her?  Your mom, I mean?”

A pair of eyes rolled inside Justin’s head.  “And when would I have had the time, dipshit?  It’s been pretty busy the last couple of days around here.”

“I know, but…maybe she might have an idea?  You know, about where this fuckhead might be stashing Clay?”

Justin shrugged.  He scowled.  His head still hurt like a bitch.  “Mom wanted Seth around ‘cause there was money with him.  Plain and simple.  She’s always wanted someone to take care of her.  She never finds it.”

“Not in love, then?”

A snort rang through the room.  “Given what I’ve seen the last few months, I’ve learned some things on that subject.”

“And?”

“And I doubt my mother could ever really love _anyone_ other than herself.  Or her habit.”

“Wow.  That…that sucks.”

Justin shrugged.  “I found better.  Or maybe better found me.  Whatever.  I’m better off now, anyway.”

Alex clapped his good hand on Justin’s shoulder.  “I’ll say.  Still, I paid attention to the message.  Wasn’t your date with Hannah at Eisenhower Park?  Over where they have the rocket ship and the slide thing?”

“Huh?  Yeah, it was.  It was fun.  Until…well, you know.”

Alex nodded.  “I do.  But then why did Clay say you took her orange-picking?  I mean, I don’t know if that’s a thing she’d have liked, but I don’t remember her being all that fond of oranges…”

“Oranges?”

“Yeah, dude.  You really need to listen to it again.  Clay made this big point about oranges and you and Hannah.  The hell do you think that was?”

 _Oranges.  Why_ did _you do that, Clay?_

_Oranges._

“Oh, shit,” Justin said finally.   “Fuck me.  He was telling us something!”

Alex’s eyes grew wide.  “Oh, fuck.  There’s orange trees, wherever he is!”

“Maybe that narrows things down a little?”  Justin wondered.

“Mom and Dad are still here.  We could ask..."  A car pulled up, and Alex glimpsed a familiar face among the gaggle.  “And looks like Jess and her family are here too.”

“Jess?”

“And her dad, and her brothers.”

“Oh, _fuck._ ”  Justin swallowed.  Mr. Davis did _not_ like him, and he really couldn’t fault the older man for it.  He was civil enough when he came by with the others for get-togethers and things, but he knew he kept a close eye on him and Jess the whole time he was in their house.

“I know,” Alex said.  “He loves me, though, and this is _your_ place.  Just keep your shit together, and you’ll be fine.”


	20. Chapter 20

**November 19 th, 5:30pm**

“…we wanted you to have this, Mrs. Jensen.  So you can find Clay.”

Lainie’s eyes welled with more tears.  Their home had been host to a number of people – neighbors, colleagues, and now even families of their sons’ friends.  It was all a little overwhelming.  Add to that the steady stream of those that had come by to deliver food or well-wishes, and it was almost too much.  Lainie was used to being in control, of taking charge and seeing things settled and done.  She’d done it all her life, starting with her large family growing up and into her career and home as an adult.  _This…_   Being at another’s complete and total mercy was not something that sat well.  What hurt most was that she could do nothing to stop it, except gather an impossible sum and _pray_ it brought Clay home safe.

“That’s…it’s very kind of you, boys,” she said, bending down to give each child a hug.  Her heart broke.  She was taking money from _children_ , all so her own child might live.

Jessica Davis cleared her throat a little.  “Um…some kids gave this to me at school today, Mrs. Jensen.”  A white envelope appeared, and the girl thrust it into Lainie’s hand.  “There’s five hundred dollars in there.  They wanted me to give it to you…I mean, they knew I was a friend of Clay’s…”  Curly brown hair sagged as Jessica’s gaze fell towards her shoes.  “And I saw more collections taking place all through school.” 

Lainie knew.  The living room was filled with envelopes, mason jars, paper bags, canisters, plastic containers – all full of money.  It was as if someone had organized the biggest bake sale fundraiser known to man, and had done it in the span of fourteen hours.  “I know,” she said.  “I just…I don’t know what to say…”

“Well, we’re here to help, Mrs. Jensen,” Mr. Davis said.  “My wife should be here in a few minutes…is there anything we can do for you?  For either of you?” he said, tipping his head towards Matt, who was in the kitchen with Deputy and Mrs. Standall.  “I know Noelle has some experience in organizing large…events…”  He shrugged, and studied the floor a little.

“I’m just…we’re overwhelmed, I guess,” Lainie said.  She turned to Jessica.  “I think Justin and Alex are in the den, honey,” she said, pointing towards the space. 

“Okay.  I’ll take these guys in there, maybe get them settled a little.”

“Oh, there’s food.  Lots.”  Lainie distractedly waved in the direction of the dining room.  “Please, help yourselves.”

“And what about you, Mrs. Jensen?” Greg Davis asked.  “Have you eaten?”

“Lainie, please.”

“Greg.  Oh, there’s my wife now,” he said, seeing a familiar car park just down the street.  “I’ll just…”

The worried mother nodded numbly.  Looking at the Davis children, she said, “I’m sorry.  I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Jessica said.  “It’s like…the whole world’s crashing down, but no one’s stopping to listen.”  The girl gave a sad half-smile.  “Come on,” she said to her brothers.  “Let’s get you guys some dinner, huh?”

“Okay,” the taller of the boys said.  “Should we get your friends?  I mean, maybe…”

“Good idea.  You guys go get plates.  I’ll get them.”  Lainie watched as Jessica made sure the younger children got settled and then went in to fetch the boys from their hiding place.

“Hi there,” a voice said, and it was vaguely familiar to her.  A tall, blonde woman came through the door, bags in hand.  “I’m Noelle, Jessica’s mom?”

“Oh, yes,” Lainie said.  “I just spoke with your husband…”

“Greg’s great for commanding troops and searches, but he’s hopeless at stuff like this.  Give him a battlefield or a crisis any day.”  The woman sighed.  “Military life preps you for a lot.”

“Not for something like this,” Lainie said.  She instantly regretted it.  “I’m sorry.  I just…”

“It’s okay.  I’ve been there.  With Jessica, I mean.”  Noelle’s face took on a sad look.  “I never did get the chance to thank you, for helping her with her court case.  It…it was difficult, for her.  I’m not sure she’d have ever gone through with it, if it hadn’t been for your son.”

Lainie smiled a watery smile.  “Clay’s very determined, when he wants something.  If she hadn’t been able, he’d have found another way.  He’s more like his dad, but he takes after me in that respect.”  Suddenly a plate of food appeared in Noelle’s hand, and Lainie mechanically began to eat.

“First thing is, you have to eat.  And sleep.  You won’t do anyone any good if you don’t, and believe me, I understand how it’s easy to not do both.  Or even _want_ to.”  Jessica’s mother sighed.  “The rest…well, if you want, I can help with that.  Lord knows I’ve had the practice on many an airfield.”

“I…I’d like that.  I mean, give me a slimy lawyer or a slippery witness or a defendant I’d like to throttle myself, no problem.  _This…_ ”  Lainie sank into an open chair, still holding her half-eaten plate of food.  “I mean, all I can think about is that Clay’s out there, _somewhere_ , and…what if these people aren’t feeding him?  Or letting him sleep?  Or…or…”  Suddenly she set the plate on the table, as though it would catch on fire.  “How can I eat, or sleep, if I can’t be sure _he_ is?!”

A hand began rubbing soft circles against Lainie’s back.  “Breathe,” she heard her new friend say.  “That’s it…just breathe.”  Noelle glanced into the kitchen, where she saw Mr. Jensen’s head fall into his hands, surrounded by other husbands who could relate, if not completely understand.  “Our kids,” she said.  “It’s a wonder we’re still here, after all they’ve put us through, huh?”

Lainie chuckled, more so as she looked at the assembled group of adults in her home.  _The Standall’s nearly lost their son to suicide.  Noelle’s daughter is raped and lied to, just delaying the healing process for her.  My adopted son has more issues than National Geographic, and we_ chose _to take him anyway.  And Clay…_ “You know, you’re right.  Being a kid isn’t what it used to be anymore, is it?”

“No, it’s not.  I mean, how do we prepare our kids for these kinds of things?  _Can_ we, even?”

Tears streamed down Lainie’s face.  “We do the best we can, and pray it’s enough, I guess.”

* * *

 

The sound of a door slamming snapped Matt Jensen from his stupor.  He looked at the people surrounding him – parents of his sons’ friends – and studied them as though seeing them for the first time.  “I…I’m sorry.  I must’ve…”

“It’s okay.”  Bill Standall sat to his left, still writing something on his notepad.  “I meant to ask Justin about that message Clay left, in the video.”

“What about it?”

Greg Davis perked up a little.  He turned.  Mrs. Standall had gone into the dining room and was sitting with both his wife and Lainie Jensen.  “Do you think that boy’s not telling us something?”

Bill shook his head.  “Not like that, Mr. Davis.”

“Greg, please.  Might as well get familiar with each other.  Our children certainly are, it seems.”  A small smile crossed the airman’s face. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Matt seconded.  “I know I’m still processing that…message, I guess, and I’ve had time to do so.  He’s right.  Clay’s trying to tell us something, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Well, what did he say?”

The deputy looked at Matt, who nodded.  “He talked about the Baker girl; how Justin went on some date with her, picking oranges.”  He shook his head.  “Now, I heard those tapes of hers.  Had to, after…well, after Alex…anyway.  She mentioned a park.  Unless there’s something that Justin’s not telling us, which after the last several months, I’d put money on, there’s _something_ your Clay’s trying to tell us there.  But…I mean, we all know our kids are pretty good at keeping things close to the vest.”

Matt stood up and walked to the den.  “Justin, can you come to the kitchen for a minute?”

Justin stood up and followed him back to the table.  His friend Alex followed.  “Did you hear anything?  About Clay?” the younger boy asked, moving slowly due to his limp.

“No, son, nothing yet.  Even if we do, we’re nowhere near two hundred and fifty thousand.”  It pained Matt to admit it.  The best they could do was ninety, and that was including the assortment of donations that had flooded in over the course of the day.  People were still ringing the doorbell and dropping off items or money, and between Lainie, Justin and himself they’d been at the door most of the day.  Their house just didn’t have enough equity in it to match what it was worth, and selling one of their cars wouldn’t help.  They’d raided Clay’s college fund, and Justin had gladly given them every dime he had – including the eleven hundred that set this horrible chain of events in motion.  _“If I had money for college, I’d give it up too.  If selling myself on a corner would do the trick, I’d do it,”_ he remembered his second child saying.  _“It should be me, not Clay.  Not for one second.”_

“No, but I had a question.  Justin, about Clay’s…well, what he said to you, in that video…”

“Yeah, he’s trying to tell us something,” Justin admitted.  “I didn’t get it until a little bit ago.  Hannah and I…well, you’ve heard the tapes.  That was the only date I took her on.  I don’t even know if she liked oranges or not, really.”

“He was very specific, about oranges,” the deputy said.  “Very specific.”

“Could it be…I don’t know, maybe he’s near an orange grove?  Or somewhere they process them?”  Matt was grasping at straws, but he’d rather try that than the alternative.

“Cold even be someplace where there’s an orange tree or two, or the smell,” Greg said.  “I know California grows them, but I’m not familiar with where.”  He flushed a little.  “I mean, I’m from Baltimore, originally.”

“Yeah, we’re not from around here either,” Deputy Standall admitted.  “Washington state.”

“At least it doesn’t rain all the time here,” Alex chimed in.  “Depressing.”

“Well, mostly they grow oranges further south of us, more towards Southern California,” Matt said.  “There’s been a few places around here with orange trees, but usually just a few, not orchard numbers.”

“Well, maybe a farm?  Or a house?”  The deputy took more notes.

“Does that happen?  I mean, planting an orange tree at a house?” Mr. Davis asked.

“I saw ‘em, a few, when…when I went to the city,” Justin said.  “They’d have them, out in front, like decorations.”

“In the city?” Alex challenged.

“Well, on my way there,” Justin admitted.  “Little towns and shit.  Couple farms.”  He paused, and the room fell silent.  “I wonder…”

Just then a clatter sounded on the porch, and after a minute the front door opened.  Matt looked out to see that it had grown dark outside.  _Clay’s been gone two days,_ he thought.  _Two days of God-knows-what kind of treatment, or…_

“Dempsey, what the hell are you doing?” a familiar voice said.  Justin and Matt made their way to the living room where the women were sitting.  “Falling all over me…”  Tony Padilla brushed himself off, carefully checking the leather of his coat.

“I _said_ I was sorry, all right?”  Zach Dempsey handed a brown envelope to Lainie, who took it cautiously.  “That’s twenty thousand dollars.  Will it help?”

Matt’s eyes widened.  Justin’s did too.  “The fuck did you do, Zach?” Justin barked.  “Rob a bank?”

“No, you dumbass.”  He turned again towards Lainie.  “I…I sold my car.  I mean, I got another one, but that was the difference.  Take it, if it’ll help get Clay back.”

A hush fell over the room.  “Zach,” Matt began, “we…we can’t…”

“Yes.  Yes, you can.  Mr. Jensen…Mrs. Jensen…”  The tip of Zach’s tongue quivered over his lip, and he took a breath.  “I…I used to be an idiot.  How’d you put it, Alex?”

“Oh, yeah.  ‘An entitled idiot who probably has a decent heart,’ wasn’t it?”

“Something like that.  I mean, I’ve learned a lot from Clay.  A _lot._   And it’s gotten me better friends, and I’m a lot happier person because of that.  The thought of someone…”  Tears were about to form in the boy’s eyes, and a few adults were having trouble keeping theirs in.  “It’s just money.  Clay’s worth more than that.”

At that, Lainie burst into tears.  She got up and walked out of the room, Mrs. Davis following close behind her.

“Well, damn,” Tony said.  He handed another envelope to Matt.  “I, uh…I sold my car, too.”

“Your Mustang?  Tony…you _love_ that car…” Justin said.  A sad look crossed the newest Jensen’s face.

“Yeah, I know, but like Dempsey said, Clay’s worth a hundred of her.  I made a good deal with a collector I know, and she’ll be okay with him.  And, like Zach, I got a car too.  Needs work, but she’ll be gorgeous when I’m done.”   He nodded at the envelope.  “There’s forty thousand in there.  Classic cars hold better value, I guess, but still…”

Matt was floored.  Now _he_ was crying.  He could just make out Justin crossing the room to pull the smaller kid into a hug, and then do the same with Zach.  “I…I don’t know how I can…” he heard his son say.

“Just…get him back, Foley,” Tony said.  “And keep doin’ what you’re doin’.  Change…it ain’t easy, but it’s worth it.”

“I know.  Now, I need to ask you guys a favor.”

“What?” Zach asked.

“I need a ride.  There’s one thing I can do…and only I can do it.”  Justin turned to the adults in the room.  “I’m sorry.  It’s not…stupid, or anything, but…I need to ask someone a few questions, and if anyone but me goes, I know we won’t get anything at all.”

“Justin, you’re in no shape to be moving around like that,” Mrs. Standall said.  She had her _no-nonsense_ tone in full force.  “Concussions are nothing to mess with.”

“I’ll…I’ll be okay, ma’am.  I just…I _need_ to do this.”

“Who are you going to talk to, Justin?” Matt asked.

“My mom,” his son replied.  “I have to talk to my mom.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notice: This chapter contains elements found in Bitterblue33's vignette "A Father's Love, Part 3", which can be found in her collection "A Destiny Which Makes Us Brothers". Namely, the "rules" Amber speaks of regarding her visits with Justin, and her scheme to use him for money. While the chapter can be read without reading that story first, I do highly recommend it.

 

 

 

**November 19th, 8pm**

“You ready for this?”

Justin looked out at the dilapidated apartment building that his mother was currently occupying.  The brick was crumbling from the edges of the structure.  Twilight began to hide the tall grass and weeds from easy view.  Torn drapes and broken blinds littered the visible windows.  “No.  But I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Dude, you can let Alex’s dad talk to her,” Zach said, tapping his hands nervously against the steering wheel of his new ride.  The Jeep was definitely not something his mother would approve of, and Justin was a little glad his friend had volunteered to drive him here.  “This is _not_ something you have to do.  Not if you don’t want to.”

Brown wavy hair shook.  “Zach, Clay’s in this fuck-up because of me.  I can only _imagine_ what Seth’s doing to him!”  Greenish eyes glittered fiercely in the dark.  “No.  Mom is my one chance.  My _one_ chance to get in front of this somehow.”  He sighed.   “Well, fuck.  Here goes nothin’, right?”

A hand clapped on Justin’s shoulder.  “Good luck?”

“Thanks, man.”  He climbed out of the Jeep and tried to be a casual as possible as he walked up the rickety wooden steps to the front entrance.  Inside, he looked up the name of her new boyfriend —Carl…something – and made his way up two flights of stairs to a sad, sun-bleached door.  He knocked.

“The fuck is it?” a man yelled.  Justin guessed it was Carl, the boyfriend.  “Busy!”

 _I_ really _don’t want to know,_ he thought as he knocked again.  This time footsteps pounded through the apartment.  The door flew open with a _bang._  Justin jumped backward, just missing being hit with the barrier by mere centimeters.   “Who the fuck are you?” a thin, balding, red-faced man barked.

“Justin.  Amber’s kid,” the boy replied.  He had to laugh.  Of all of the men Amber Foley had brought into her son’s life, this one intimidated Justin the least.  In a good wind, the asshole would blow clean over.  “She here?”

“Fuck do you want?”

“I wanna talk to my mom for a minute, dickhead,” Justin said.  “Then I’ll be gone.”

“ _Amber!_ ” Carl bellowed.  Justin winced.  What Carl lacked in build, he clearly made up for in sound.  “Get your ass out here!”

More footsteps shuffled, and then he saw her.  Amber Foley looked much the same as she always did – small, slight, skinny – but now Justin noticed that she looked… _older._   Her limp brown hair was still greasy and matted.  Her eyes never lost that glazed, hung-over look.  It took her a minute to focus, but once she did, a small smile crossed her face.  “Justin.  Hi, baby.”

A lump began to form in Justin’s throat.  “Hi, Mom.”

“You…you wanna come in?  Place is a wreck, but…”

Justin shook his head.  “I can’t stay, Mom.  I…I really need to ask you something.”

“Oh, stay.  Come on.”

“Amber, we’ve got…” Carl said, his words deliberately trailing.

“Oh.  Right.  Maybe not.”

“It’s okay, Mom.  Right here’s fine.”  Justin looked around.  The apartment was situated on the top floor, and it was the only door on the right of the staircase. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Carl went back inside, clattering a few things as he walked by them.

As the door closed, Amber ran a dirty hand through Justin’s hair.  “You look good, baby.”

“Yeah, Mom.  I’m…I’m okay.” 

Her hand snaked towards his wrist, and she peered at his arms.  “No marks.”

“No.  Been clean three months.”  He bit his lip.  “I’m doing good.”

“That’s good, baby.”  His mother’s hand caressed his face, and it was beginning to creep Justin out a little.  “Do those…those _people_ know you’re here?”  A scowl darkened Amber’s face.

“Yeah, Matt and Lainie know I’m here.”

“Not supposed to see you here.  One of the ‘rules.’” She clucked her tongue.  “Like they can stop me.”

That was a whole other argument Justin just didn’t have time for right that minute.  “Listen, Mom, I need to ask you something…about Seth…”

“No.  No, no, baby,” his mother said, putting worn, dirty fingers against his lips.  “We don’t talk about him.”

“Mom, this is important.”  _Fuck, she’s high,_ Justin realized.  “Like, life and death important, all right?”

“But you’re fine, baby,” she said, this time stroking his hair.  “Just fine.”

“Mom, listen to me.  My friend Clay – Matt and Lainie’s son, you met him once, at their house?”

Amber giggled.  “Uptight little shit,” she said.  The giggles compounded.  Justin had _no_ idea what his mother was on this time.  Weed made her sleepy.  Cocaine made her moody.  Alcohol made her laugh.  _God, I hope she’s not doing all three,_ he prayed silently.  “Thought he could scare me.  He’s nothing.”

“Mom, Seth took him!  Because of me!”  Justin’s voice was raised, and a part of him felt ashamed for yelling at his mother.  Another part of him was furious at her _so what?_ attitude.  “You saw what he almost did to _me!”_

“And you turned out just _fine_ ,” Amber said.  “Landed on your feet, like you always do.”  She patted his shoulder.  “You were always good at that.”

“Not this time, Mom.  I need to know – where did he move his operation to, while…while I was gone?”  _Please, God, let her come to her senses…_

“For a hundred dollars, I’ll tell you.”  His mother now stood in front of him, arms folded against her chest.  “Those people you live with are good for it.”

Any other time, Justin would have asked.  “No, Mom, they’re not.  Seth wants a quarter of a _million_ dollars to get Clay back.  Look, I…I know you _think_ they’re rich, like Bryce, but they’re _not._ ”

“I’ve seen their house.  Those clothes you’ve got on.  Probably even have your own car.”

“I don’t.  Really, Mom, I…oh, fuck it.”  Justin turned to leave.

“So that’s it?  Not good enough for your mother anymore, are you?”  Amber’s arms were at her sides now, her hands clenched into fists. 

Justin snorted.  “You have _got_ to be fucking _kidding_ me!  Have you _seen_ yourself, these last few minutes?  You’re trying to _come on_ to me, Mom!  And I’m your _son!_ ”

Amber shook her head.  “Not legally.  That’s not what those people say.  Not what those fancy legal papers say.”

“Fuck it.”  Justin shook his head.  “I’ve never really been your son, have I?  Not once in my whole life.”

“That’s not _true!”_ Amber shouted, her face turning red.  “I did the best I could, raising you!  But no!  Got into a pissing contest with every man I ever brought home…”

“…that got high or drunk and beat the fuck out of me,” Justin retorted.  “Or kept me from eating, or a place to sleep!”

“Didn’t have enough to go around, did I?  Not when you’re standing there, screaming you _need_ shit!”

Tears ran down Justin’s face.  “All I ever was was an accident, Mom.  An accident you turned into a welfare check, and then a caretaker, and then a punching bag for whatever guy could get you high and fucked on a regular basis.”  He pointed into the dingy apartment.  “He’s probably just as bad as the rest of them!”

“No!  You’re wrong!  Carl…he…he _loves me!”_

“Yeah, until you’re washed up.  Or too much of a pain in the ass.”  He took a breath.  “I used to think I could help you, Mom.  Get you clean.  Get you something…something _better_ than this.  But now, all I see is a sad, washed up, pathetic woman who pissed away the one good thing she had in her life.”  A sob crawled out his throat.  “I don’t…I don’t think you _ever_ really loved me.  I don’t think you can really love _anyone_ …except _yourself.”_

“Fuck you!”

Justin wiped his face, struggling to compose himself.  “Clay’s gonna die,” he said, his voice raw and strangled.  “Please, Mom.  _Please._   Help me.”

Amber crossed her arms again.  Her thin, angular face was drawn into a pout.  “So?  Let them see what it’s like, huh?  Losing a son?  Didn’t mind much when they took _mine_ away…”

“You’re wrong, Mom.  They didn’t _take_ me away.  You let Seth _throw_ me away.”

“Could’ve stayed, that last time.  I begged you to stay, but _no._   You were off and runnin’ again!”

Justin looked at the woman sadly.  “I begged you to leave him.  I _begged._   But you wouldn’t.”

“I couldn’t!”

A dark head of short brown waves shook sadly.  “No, Mom.  You wouldn’t.  Not until you knew he’d come after you too.”  Justin swallowed.  “The Jensen’s aren’t going to lose a son.  _You_ are.”

“Already did, didn’t I?  Those people saw to it!”

“No, Mom.   You did.  You ran off, and didn’t want to be found.  Not until you realized I might be worth money to you, living with them.”  A dark laugh escaped his throat.  “I’ll bet anything that’s why you come to visit me every two weeks – you’re gouging them for money.  To…come, or to stay away, I dunno, but it _stops._ _Now._ ”  Justin’s foot hit the top stair.  “You don’t have a son.  I don’t know you.  Stay the hell away from me.  From me, my parents, and my brother.  I don’t ever want to see you again.”

With that, he took the stairs two at a time, and raced for Zach’s Jeep.  “Drive,” he told his confused friend.  “Just get me the hell out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I realize that, yes, Amber is a victim too, in her own right, I can't really feel sorry for her. My apologies to those who view her situation in a different light.
> 
> Also, I'm not sure Justin's at a place where he would write his mother off in canon, but in this story, he's been getting an idea of what she's really like, and choosing accordingly. My apologies to those who disagree on this matter.


	22. Chapter 22

**November 19 th, 11am**

Clay shivered.  The wind kept hitting him from the south, and as it blew across the puddles on top of the roof of the tool shed, it grew colder.  His jeans were a sodden wreck, wet with water and with piss.  Every time he so much as shifted, he could hear a growl from one of the dogs below.  When he would peer over the edge, they barked as though he were their last supper.

Blue eyes fluttered, but would not close.  Clay was afraid to fall asleep.  One wrong shift of his weight, and he knew he’d topple over the side.  His arms ached from being bound for so long.  The flip-flops he’d worn during his escape had fallen off, and a Doberman was busy sharpening its teeth on them.

 _God, I wish he’d just shoot me._   Clay realized that he’d seen his captor and could identify him with no trouble.  But that was the problem – if he hadn’t bothered to conceal _that_ , he probably wasn’t planning on letting him live too long after he got his money, or whatever.  _I am_ so _fucked._

“Well, good morning, asshole,” the man said.  Clay searched his mind for a name, and came up just short.  He knew now that it was Justin’s mother’s ex-boyfriend that was keeping him – the last one; the one that had thrown Justin out and made him homeless.  “Sleep well?”

Clay glared at him.  He didn’t dare say a word.

“Suppose I better take you down, shithead.  Gotta clean you up a _little._   No one’s paying a quarter of a million for _you_ looking like _that._ ”

 _His cup of kindness just overflows,_ Clay snarked to himself. 

“Should just let you jump,” the man added. 

Clay warily looked around the edge of the roof.  The dogs remained on guard.  “No one’s paying shit if they eat me, idiot,” he said, in a calm a manner as he dared.

“Maybe I will leave you there, _idiot_.  Doesn’t matter to me if you go home or not.  Truth be told, I might just let them eat you anyway.”  The wiry man stood behind the Doberman.  He barked a command that Clay couldn’t make out, and in seconds the dogs wandered off.  “Now,” he said.  “Get your ass over towards that truck.”

Clay gently scooted towards the abandoned wreck.  He put his bare feet down on the top of the cab, and gingerly lowered himself to the truck’s bed.  The man waited impatiently at the tailgate.  “Don’t fucking think about it, or those animals get dinner.”

Heart sinking, Clay made his way to the tailgate.  He was pulled roughly to the ground, and Clay coughed as the dust from the dirt below found its way into his throat and lungs. Thin, bony hands grabbed his arm, and pulled him up with a jerk.  It was all Clay could do to keep from screaming in pain. 

“Walk,” the man ordered, and Clay took large, unsteady steps as the man pulled him forward quickly into the old farmhouse.  At the front door, they stopped.  “Lost the shoes, didn’t ya?  Stupid fuck.”

It was then Clay remembered the glass.  “Oh, Jesus fuck.”

“I _told_ you.  Walk.”

Clay refused to move.  “Don’t.  Please, don’t. _Please!”_

“I did a little cleaning last night.  Now whatever you find in there…well, I told you.  Tried to run, thought there wouldn’t be consequences.  Fuckin’ asshole kids.  Never listen, do you?”

The man pushed Clay forward, and, being bound as he was, the teen had to compensate quickly with his feet.  The larger pieces of glass were gone, but little stubborn pieces still remained.  Clay felt a few make contact with his bare soles, and he prayed the cuts weren’t deep.  Each step another sliver presented itself, and he tried to tread as lightly as he could while being prodded closer to his dark, boiling, airless prison.  As he fell to his knees inside the room, he could hear the shuffling of something outside, and a growl made itself known.

The door slammed shut, and the lock fell into place.  Grimacing, Clay tried to get a better look at his feet.  There were a couple of small slivers stuck in his right foot, and several sharp particles in his left.  They weren’t bleeding too badly, but the thought of them becoming embedded in his skin scared him.  Walking anywhere, even a few feet, would be torture.  He pulled at his plastic bonds, and grunted angrily when they held as fast as ever.

 _What the fuck am I going to do now?_ Clay wondered.  _He’s pretty much_ told _me he plans on killing me…_ His eyes wandered the room, searching for _anything_ that might help him out of this predicament.  He cast his gaze on his shirt, lying in a hard, crunchy ball from the previous afternoon.  The thought of the old dirt and sweat on his shirt entering his wounds grossed him out a little, but…

_Beggars can’t be choosers, right?_

Crying out softly, he managed to drag himself over to the item of clothing.  _Great.  Now how am I supposed to tear it up?  With my toes?_

The door slammed against the wall, and his captor reappeared.  “Come ‘ere,” he grunted, pulling Clay’s hands toward him.  Clay screamed, his muscles and joints fighting viciously against the sudden pressure against them.  A loud _snip_ crossed his ears, and in seconds his hands were free.  In an instant, Clay pulled his hands in front of him, rubbing his torn wrists and checking the damage.  There were a few deep scrapes, but any blood had become tacky over the course of the night.

A plastic washtub landed next to him, and a dirty white washcloth was thrown in his face. Something hard landed in the washtub.  Water splashed.  “Now, clean yourself up.”

Clay picked up the cloth, rubbed the bar of soap across it a few times, and began to wash his wrists and feet gently.  As his fingers ran across the glass in his feet, he tried to pick it out the best he could.  The cuts began to sting, and he inhaled sharply.

“Now your face.”

Swallowing, Clay rinsed out the cloth, and rubbed more soap onto it.  He winced as a tiny glass fragment scratched along his cheek, but he cleaned himself as he was told.  Above him, his captor held the gun in his hand, ready to use it if Clay got brave.

Clay wanted nothing more than to run; to escape this hellhole, but he knew in his current condition he wouldn’t make it far.  He sat the cloth in the standing water of the tub.  “What…what now?” he asked.

“Now you wait.  Gotta give that asshole time to get my money together.”

The young man bit his lip.  His stomach growled.  Clay looked up at the man hopefully.

“Later.”  The plastic container of water appeared again, and Clay drank greedily.  “Slow down, dumbass.  All you’re getting for a while.”

“Why…why are you doing all this?” Clay wondered.  He waved his hand towards the washtub and the container of water.  “I mean, if you’re gonna just…”

“You ask too many questions.  Now shut up.  I need you breathing for tonight.”  The man paused a moment.  “ _That’s_ why.”

With that, the door slammed shut, locking Clay inside. 


	23. Chapter 23

**November 19 th, 9:30 pm**

The moment Justin came back to the house, he nearly ran past the living room, the kitchen and out to the small back porch where Matt kept the grill and Lainie kept a plastic end table and a couple of patio chairs.  The lady of the house looked up at Zach Dempsey, who shrugged in confusion.  “I don’t think it went well, Mrs. Jensen,” the boy had admitted.  “He told me to get him the hell out of there, and didn’t say a word the whole way back.”

It was on that porch that Lainie found her second son, sitting with his legs over the side, sobbing.  It the midst of all the chaos and heartbreak, still more managed to darken their doorstep.  She managed to find a seat next to Justin, and the pair sat for a while, Justin trying to conceal his tears but failing miserably.  Lainie put her arm around him and gave him a hug.  “Wanna talk about it?” she asked.

Justin shook his head.  The wavy hair shook violently.  She reached up and began to card her fingers through it.  “No,” the boy choked.  A minute passed.  “Fuck her.”  The words could have killed someone had they been made of lead.

“Zach says it didn’t go well.”

A strangled chuckle erupted from Justin’s throat.  “He’s gonna kill him, Lainie.  I know it.”

“We don’t know that.”  Even as she said it, her heart broke.  “How can you be sure?”

Deep breaths vibrated loudly against a young throat.  “He’s hurt people.  Before.  He fucking nearly killed _me,_ just before he threw me out!”  Long fingers stroked the space near his Adam’s apple, and Lainie had some idea of what had previously transpired.  “We don’t have enough money.  Not nearly enough.  Even with everyone’s help…”  Justin sobbed again.  “All I wanted was an answer.  I wanted _something_ … just so we could _find_ him, and…”  His face turned dark.  In the pale moonlight, it took on an ugly, twisted quality.  “And…and even if we _did_ , he’s not fucking stupid.  I’ll fucking bet anything Clay can identify him.”

Lainie stilled.  _Oh, God._

“I…I told Matt, earlier…I mean, I understand, if you…you don’t want me anymore.”  Greenish eyes raised from their perch at Justin’s feet, and they were almost pleading.  “I mean…”

Sobbing, Lainie pulled her child into a hug.  “Oh, honey.”

“And…and just to top the whole fucking thing off, my…” His face darkened again.  “That fucking _bitch_ tried to hit me up for money!  A hundred dollars, just to get a few words out of her.  After she tried to…seduce me, I guess?”  Justin wiped his eyes angrily.  His voice was growing hoarse.  “I never was her son.  I was just an accident.  A welfare check.  Someone to pick her fucking stoned-ass up when she couldn’t get her shit together…”

“Justin…”

“I told her I never wanted to see her again.  And I don’t!”  The last part of that sentence, Lainie swore could be heard for three blocks.  “I would rather have _no_ family than be that again!”

Lainie moved her hand to Justin’s back, where she absently began rubbing soft, soothing circles.  Her face was a mess, all wet and puffed from crying.  One child missing, in a world of danger…the other, convinced no one would want him because of the events he had, witting or unwittingly, set in motion out of desperation months ago. 

Something sat on Justin’s other side, and Lainie felt a familiar hand clasp her own over Justin’s back.  “Justin, it’s okay.”

“It…It’s not fucking okay, Matt!  He’s gonna kill him…you don’t know Seth, not like I do.  He won’t think twice about it.  Fuck, Clay might already be…”

“Stop!” Matt barked, and Justin stilled at once.  “I refuse to give up.  Do you hear me?  I _refuse!_ ”

“Me either,” Lainie agreed.  “Not until I have proof Clay’s dead.  And I’m not going to cross that bridge until I have to, so stop planning for it to come, understand?”

Justin shook his head.  “I’m _trying._ ”

“As for the other,” Matt said.  “We talked about that, didn’t we?”

His son nodded.  “Yeah, we did.”

Lainie tried her best to dry her face with her shirt sleeve.  Mascara spread over her cheeks, making her look like a drowned raccoon. 

“I…told Amber I didn’t want to see her anymore, Matt,” Justin said.  “Not after tonight.  God, I was a fucking _idiot._   She never…”  Fresh tears streamed down the teen’s face.  “She didn’t want a son.  She wanted a welfare check, and someone to take care of her.”  He sniffled a little.  “What about _me?_ She should have taken care of _me!”_

Matt sighed.  “Yes, she should have.  And it’s her loss.”  He put an arm around Justin’s shoulder as Lainie continued her soft circles against the boy’s back.  “And it’s _our_ gain.”  He wiped away a stray tear.  “I...I know Clay’s really liked having you here, having a brother.  We…we always wanted more children, but…”

“We couldn’t,” Lainie finished.  “Having you has been a gift.  Even if it doesn’t always seem like that, between the two of you…”

“I love it here,” Justin admitted.  “I mean, I admit I was pretty much a dick to Clay, especially before.  Staying here, though, during that whole trial…I really got to see Clay, as a person.  He wasn’t just, y’know, _not like me,_ y’know? We had...we had more in common than I thought.”

“I imagine he feels the same way,” Lainie said.  “The two of you couldn’t _be_ more opposite.”

“And yet, it works,” Matt added.  “How about that?”

The three Jensens sat in the moonlight, huddled together against the chaos surrounding them, and prayed for a miracle.  Somehow or another, they would bring Clay home.


	24. Chapter 24

**November 19 th, 10:15 pm**

“God, it’s the waiting game that’s killing me,” Alex said as he checked his phone for the thousandth time.  “Doesn’t this asshole want his money?”

“Who the fuck knows, Standall?” Tony said, peeling off his leather jacket and hanging it in the foyer.  “I just wanna find this asshole and beat the shit out of him.”

“Mr. Standall, didn’t you say you knew who took Clay?” Zach asked.

The boys were waiting along with the Jensens.  Mrs. Davis was at the house as well.  Mrs. Standall had to leave for work, and Jessica had gone home with her family a couple of hours before.  _“Someone needs to make sure these monsters get to bed,”_ Jessica had said, playfully teasing her little brothers.  _“But I want a text as soon as everything goes down.  Sheri says she’ll murder you all if you leave her out too.”_

“We do, but it’s still not helpful,” the deputy said.   He was on duty, acting as the liason for the Jensens in regards to Clay’s case.  “Seth Griffith is a known meth dealer and manufacturer, so we’ve got a BOLO out for him, but he has no known address.  Not since the place he used to cook at, and that’s been vacant for months.  It’s possible he’s got people working for him, and he never has to leave wherever he’s got Clay.”

“Fuck,” Tony snapped.  “No chance of just finding him, then?”

“I’m afraid not.  But Clay’s not sitting around, either.  We’ve got forces from three counties searching any house, farm or structure that has orange trees around it.  It’s still a good number, but it narrows the field down.”

“Orange trees?” Zach wondered.

“Yeah.  Clay slipped Justin a message.  Made a point about orange trees, which makes us think there’s one or more near him.  Apparently, there’s more than a couple in this area.”  Alex sighed.  He tapped his hand on his cane nervously. 

“I don’t see a whole lot of them around here,” Zach admitted.  “I mean, not in town…”

“Hey, hand me that map,” Alex said, pointing at the article near Tony’s knees.  The pair spread it across the dining room table.  It contained a layout of properties in and around Evergreen, Redwood and South Bay Counties.  “Okay, so here’s us,” he said, pointing his right hand towards the cluster that made up the unincorporated town of Crestmont.  “We know there’s no orange trees here, right?”

“Not unless you count Old Man Snable’s tree, and it’s half-dead,” Tony pointed out.  “Plus, that man’s a hermit.  I don’t think he’s come out of that house in fifteen years.”

“So, Clay’s not there.”

Zach shook his head.  “Price’s have a few, over in Vaughn’s Hill, but you wouldn’t know that unless you could get past their gates.”  He shrugged.  “My mom is friends with Mrs. Price.  No kids.”

“So not there either.”  Alex scratched his head.  “Are there any farms nearby?  Something with trees?”

“Okay, yeah,” his father said, cottoning on to what his son was up to.  “It would have to be something isolated, out of the way…”

“Someplace you could stash an eighteen-year-old without fear of him being found out,” Tony realized.  He thought a moment.  “There were three of ‘em, years ago…”

“Yeah,” Zach said.  “Fillmore’s, but that’s been closed for ages.”  He pointed to a spot on the border of Evergreen and Redwood Counties.  “Place is falling apart, I guess?”

“You guess?” Deputy Standall asked.

The teen shrugged.  “My dad used to do books for the Fillmore’s.  Once they died, the family didn’t want it, but there was some big court battle over how to divide it up and who to.  Maybe Mrs. Jensen might know about that?”

“There’s Marigold Farms, but I think that’s just a summer place,” Tony said.  “They got oranges, and pears too.  They do a pick-it-yourself operation.  I think the owners live in Redwood, though.  Not at the farm.”

“And the other?” Bill asked, scribbling furiously.

“Preston’s?” Zach said.

“No, Pistone’s,” Tony corrected.  “Another ghost town.  Family didn’t want it, and they had all kinds of trees.”

“I remember Pistone’s,” Zach said.  “We went on the trip in fourth grade, remember?”

Tony smiled.  “Yeah.  Monty fell out of the tree, broke his arm…good times.”

“This is great, boys.  Anything else?”

The three shook their heads.  “No, nothing.  Plus, we don’t know what’s in Redwood or South Bay Counties.”

“It’s a start.  Now we…”  Suddenly a phone buzzed.  The deputy pulled out the little clone of Justin’s phone.  “Boys, go get Justin.  Right now.”

Alex took the phone from his father’s hand.  “There’s an email,” he said.  “Quick, hurry!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting a two-for today, so be on the lookout for Chapter 25 as well. Enjoy!


	25. Chapter 25

**November 19 th, 9pm**

“Get up!”

Clay blinked his eyes awake.  His head felt bleary, as though it were full of cotton.   His stomach threatened to devour the neighboring internal organs in an attempt to feed itself.  His wrists stung, and his feet were on fire.  Gingerly, he picked up his head from the rough wooden floor.

Something soft hit his face.  Puzzled, Clay reached for the object – a thin cheese sandwich.  “Eat.”  The starving teen didn’t hesitate.  The bread felt thick as it slid down his parched throat.  Parts of the cheese slice stuck to the roof of his mouth. Clay had to remember to breathe as he ate.

“Fuck, you’d think you ain’t seen food, asshat,” his captor chortled.  The sound of heavy plastic striking the worn floorboards startled the boy.  Clay recoiled from the object, shaking his head to try and clear some of the cobwebs from it.  It was the plastic water container again.  Cautiously, Clay picked up the container and began to drink.

“Drink it all, kid,” the man told him.

The order confused Clay.  Until now, he’d been admonished to conserve his liquid ration.  He tipped the vessel away from his mouth.  “Wh-why?”

“Do it.”  An audible _click_ convinced Clay to comply. The teen thought back to that fateful night of the Spring Fling, where he’d somehow pulled off a miracle and managed to convince a raging teenager holding a loaded _assault rifle_ to his throat not to go through with his endgame of killing as many Liberty High students as possible.  _Tyler could still be reasoned with,_ Clay thought.  _This guy…his mind’s already made up._ His arms quickly began to feel like lead, and his dank, stinking prison began to spin.  “Wh..what’d you do…to me?” he said haltingly, the words coming to him sluggishly.

“Insurance,” the man said.  “You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to.”

Clay fought the fuzzy feeling that was compounding within his system.  This was worse than when his hallucinations and depressive episodes were kicking in.  He desperately wanted to _move,_ to think clearly, to run like hell, but his body was as lead.  His thoughts were like thick pudding beaten with a wire whisk.

“I’ll give you a few minutes.  Then you’re gonna get me my money.  And that little bastard.”

Clays’ breaths slowed considerably.  It felt like he was fighting for each one.  _He drugged me,_ he managed to piece together.  **_That’s_ **_why he was so insistent…but with what?_

“Am I…am I…”

“It’s not gonna kill you, kid.  Probably give you a nice high, though.  Enjoy it.”

Clay felt awful.  _How could anyone_ want _to do this to themselves?_

The door closed, and it could have been a thousand miles away for all Clay could reach it.  He began to relax his breaths, to try and gain some control over himself.  His head felt heavy.  His legs would only move a little.  _It’s like I’m trapped inside my own body,_ Clay thought.  The concept frightened him.  _The one prison no one can escape…_

Minutes passed.  Clay could hear the sounds of footsteps gathering near the outside wall of his prison.  A series of barks and growls made him want to jump, but he could only slowly shrink away from the thick barrier in his current state. 

_What am I going to do now?_ he thought.  _There’s no way I could move on a second’s notice.  I’m a sitting duck!_

And that’s probably the point, his mind managed to rebuke.  Best way to clean up after.

_Fuck you. I am_ not _going to die here._

The squeak of rusted hinges drew his attention.  Two masked men came over towards him.  The stench of filth, shit and rotted teeth wreaked havoc on Clay’s nose.  He desperately wanted to gag, but he was having trouble getting his muscles and neurons to work together properly.  As it stood, he would need help to even stand, let alone take a step.

“Fuck, the kid’s heavy,” a heavily accented voice said.  Clay wanted to guess Mexican, but he’d heard enough of Tony’s family and neighbors to know there was something off about that voice.  It was close, but not quite.

“Just shut the fuck up and get him in the chair,” the other voice said.  This one belonged to a black man, Clay was sure.  He had to laugh.  Marcus Cole, for all his grandstanding and manipulation, ended up being the opposite of what he’d so desired to be:  a respectable black man.  There was something about voices that stripped away all the masks of a person to show who they really were, and Marcus had simply managed to dress up a sleazeball very, very well.  The man now struggling to pick his functionally paralyzed body up from the grimy floor had a very similar voice, though Clay was sure it wasn’t Marcus.  _Maybe a cousin?  Who knows?_

One of the men lost their grip, and Clay started to plunge towards the floor.  “ _Puto!”_ the not-Mexican snapped, lashing out at his compatriot.  “Break him, and Seth takes it out on _you, ese!”_

_Seth.  Oh, fuck._ Clay’s mind, though still very thick and sluggish, was beginning to slowly rebound.  _Justin, you sure know how to piss off the worst people…_

Justin had told Clay about the infamous Seth.  It had come in bits and pieces.  A haunted nightmare, where Justin actually gagged in his sleep, desperately fighting off his unseen attacker.  The hints about his mother’s various boyfriends, and how Seth had been the worst of them. The random pieces of information about dealers and lower parts of the drug business, argued over a _Narcos_ marathon one early September weekend.

_I am_ **so** _fucked._

Clay felt himself being jostled roughly by the black man, in an attempt to get a better grip on Seth’s severely weakened captive teenager.  A hand landed against his upper arm.  Another grabbed the waistband of his ruined jeans.  “Now, walk,” the not-Mexican demanded.  _“Vamanos!”_

“I…I can’t…”

“Fuck this.”  The black man shifted his grip, his hands dangerously close to places Clay would rather keep to himself.  “We gotta carry his ass, you bossy motherfucker.”  The disgust dripped from the man’s voice.

A stream of some kind of Spanish followed.  It wasn’t anything Clay could follow.  His foreign language was French, and the little bit of Spanish he knew from the Padilla household was _nothing_ like what this man spoke.  More hands shifted against Clay’s person, and soon he was being lifted off his feet.  After what seemed like an interminable (and very uncomfortable) distance, he was unceremoniously dropped into the metal folding chair he’d occupied the previous night.

“Look at me, fuckhead,” his captor – Seth—barked.  Clay struggled against the drugs in his system to lift his head, and the look he gave was nothing short of murderous.  “Now, listen good, asshole.  You’re gonna say _exactly_ what I want you to say.  Nothing else.  No messages, no tricks.  I can just as soon kill you once I get what I want, so _don’t_ make that an option if you wanna go home.”

_You’re gonna kill me anyway, fuckhead,_ Clay thought.  _Why you’re waiting, I’m not sure, though…_

A piece of paper appeared, and it was thrust into Clay’s uncooperative fingers.  He read the contents.  He fought to keep his already slow, unsteady breathing in check.  “Okay,” he said quietly.  “But…”

“ _But_ what?”  Seth’s eyes sparkled, and it was a scary look.

“If…if this…”  Clay shook his head to try and focus his thoughts.  “Can I…can I say goodbye?”

“They pay up, you go home.  You don’t think they’ll pay?”

_No,_ the teen thought.  _I think they will, and you’ll kill me anyway.  Just to watch Justin scream._ Outwardly, Clay shook his head.  “I know they can’t.  Even with help, they can’t." Clay struggled for breath after each sentence. "You won’t get what you’re asking for.”

“Better hope I do.”  The man raised his phone.  “Now, talk.”


	26. Chapter 26

**November 19 th, 11:00 pm**

“ _Justin, it’s me.  Listen, this guy wants his money at 12:30 tonight.  He wants_ you _to bring it.  No one else.”_ A hand prodded Clay, who seemed very out of it. 

 _It’s like he’s drugged,_ Justin realized.  _What the hell did you do to him, Seth?_   Because of his birth mother’s preferred lifestyle, Justin was familiar with a lot of street drugs and what effects they might have on a person.  Clay was acting like nothing he’d seen or experienced before.  _Did you mix shit together, make a cocktail?  The fuck did you do to him?_

 _“…you get_ one _person to drive, because…well, because.”_ Clay shrugged.  It looked to the younger boy like a shiver.  _“Choose well.  Obviously, no cops.  Or adults, for that matter.”_

Justin’s options were rapidly dwindling. 

 _“…the old Fillmore farm,”_ Clay said.  The hand behind Clay poked him roughly again.  Justin knew exactly who was behind his brother.  _“Justin, there’s only one chance to do this.  Don’t be like Alex and fuck it up.”_ The sound of a strike brought an audible gasp from Matt, who was standing behind Justin as the house’s inhabitants watched the video from his laptop.  Clay cried out in pain, and the screen went blank.

“We can send people there, surround the place,” Deputy Standall was saying.  “If they’re even there.”

“I'll bet anything they are,” Zach said.  “I kind of remember the area.  It would be just the place.  No one’s lived there for at least fifteen years.”

“I know that place too,” Tony said.  “It’s open as fuck.  The only trees are right near the house and barn.  Fillmore’s grew field stuff, not trees.”  The Latino shook his head, running a hand through his dark, slicked-back hair.  “He’d see people coming a mile off.”

“This just gets better and better,” Matt snarked.  “The only way to get my son back is to send my _other_ son to get him?  Does _anyone_ see the outcome there?”

Deputy Standall nodded.  “I do, and I don’t like it, but we don’t have a lot of options, Matt.”

“There _has_ to be another answer,” Lainie argued.  “I’m not sacrificing one son for another.  I am _not_!”

Justin shook his head.  “There _is_ no other way, Lainie.  I told you, he’s smart.  I guarantee he’s got at least ten ways out of there, and nine of them include Clay dead.  Or me.  Fuck, that’s probably the point!”  The boy winced.  His head was still throbbing from the knock it had received two days prior.

“That _is_ the point, asshole!” Alex yelled.  “Wasn’t anyone listening to Clay?”

“Yeah, I was, Standall,” Justin argued.  “No cops.  No adults, and only one driver.  Oh, and me.”

Alex grabbed the laptop.  “No, idiot.  _Listen._ ”  He rewound the video only a few seconds.  “ _...do this.  Don’t be like Alex and fuck it up.”_ Clay’s wavering voice rang loud and clear through the silent room.

“What is he talking about?” Matt wondered.

“I get it,” Tony said.  He turned to the Jensens.  “Clay’s telling us that this asshole plans to kill him and Justin both.  It doesn’t matter how we approach it.”

“How?” Lainie said.

“Alex,” Deputy Standall said, his voice full of wonder.

The boy in question nodded.  “I mean, I tried to kill myself.  I fucked it up.  But more importantly, I thought it was the answer to my problem.  It wasn’t.  And I know that now, but…”  Alex sighed.  “I thought Hannah’s solution was the best one.  Clay’s telling us this Seth guy plans to kill him anyway.  Like Hannah planned to kill herself.  No one was gonna talk her out of it.”

“And he’s telling Foley here to stay away,” Tony reasoned.  “Cause this asshole plans to kill him too.”

“Well, fuck, I knew that, Tony.” Justin scowled.  “But if Clay thinks I’m leaving him there…”

The whole room was at a loss.  If they followed the madman’s instructions, two young men died.  If they didn’t, two young men were still destroyed – one by a bullet, the other by bone and spirit-crushing guilt. Tony looked at the clock on the mantle.  “We’ve got forty-five minutes, people,” he said.  “Now, I can’t speak for everyone, but I am _for fucking sure_ not going to sit here and let Clay sacrifice himself!”

“You’re right.”  Justin walked towards the door.  “And you’re driving.”

“Justin!” Lainie shouted.  “Don’t you dare!”

“Lainie, Matt…I have to do this.  And I have an idea.”  He shrugged.  “It’s a longshot, but it _might_ work.”

Deputy Standall raised a hand.  “I can’t let you do this, Justin.”

“Well, it’s not just me.  Tony’s on board, right?”

“Oh, _damn_ straight I am driving.”

Justin looked at the crippled boy still sitting near his laptop.  “And you’re in, right Alex?”

“Fuckhead, even I can count to _one._   I make two.  Do you have brain damage too, from that beatdown the other night?”  Alex stood up, gripping his cane as though he’d die if he let go.

“His right foot works, right, Zach?”

“Um, yeah…”  Zach looked confused.

Justin looked at Alex hard.  “Can you still grip a steering wheel?”

“Um, yeah.  One-handed.  I’m not driving far, dumbass.  My coordination sucks.”

“That’s all we need.  I don’t need a great driver.  I need a distraction.”

Tony glared at Justin.  “What the fuck kind of half-assed plan you got goin’, Foley?”

Justin shrugged.  “The kind that might save Clay’s life,” he replied.  “Zach, give Tony your keys.  Tony, Alex, get in the car.  I’ll explain on the way.  And Alex?”

The younger boy started limping for the door.  “What?”

“Make sure that phone of yours works.  We’re gonna need it.”


	27. Chapter 27

**November 20 th, 12:20am**

“You ready?”

Tony Padilla shook his head.  “This is, by _far,_ the most fucked-up plan I’ve ever heard.  And _that_ is saying something, Foley.”

“I agree,” Alex said, his voice muffled as he lay flat against the back seats of the Jeep Cherokee.  “I mean, I can barely _walk_ straight, and you want me to do fucking _gymnastics_ over the seats and drive this beast?”  The boy reached behind him and hit Justin’s arm, which was the only thing he could reach in his current position.  “You are out of your fucking mind.”

“Probably.”  He chuckled a little.  “I mean, I was trying _not_ to do fucked-up things anymore.  Now look at me, right?”

The three teenagers looked at each other.  A fit of giggles erupted.  “Shit,” Alex said.  “We’re _all_ going to fucking die, right?”

Justin stilled.  “You have your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.  Whatever you do, _don’t_ lose it.”  Justin had convinced Deputy Standall to place a tracker on the phone, and Alex would use it to call for the backup that was anxiously waiting a mile off.  Justin’s plan was, in essence, simple:  make the exchange, get Clay, drive like hell out of there.  There were trackers in the bags containing the money as well, and the bills had been recorded.  Should Seth manage to escape, he couldn’t use the money without being discovered.

Justin, however, had a Plan B, and it was, to say the least, audacious.  Should Seth look like he planned to kill either Clay or Justin, Alex was to drive the car out of there.  _“I’m banking on your driving skills to be pretty bad, Alex,”_ he’d explained to his friends.  _“He’ll be too busy watching you to notice Tony’s there.”_

“You really think you’ll need me, Justin?” the shorter teen asked.

“I know it.  Seth’s got him drugged on _something,_ and it’s not pretty.  You saw Clay on that tape.  He looked completely out of it, and it was like he could barely move!”

Tony nodded.  “I get it.”

“Okay.”  Justin took a deep breath.  “Here goes nothing.”

Tony put the Jeep into drive.  He cautiously made his way down the long dirt entrance of the old dilapidated farm, stopping when he saw a thin, wiry, scraggly looking man with wild eyes standing in front of the old house.  Directly in front of the man was his best friend, looking for all the world like he’d been through the depths of Hell.  Clay’s eyes were half-closed, and it looked to Tony as though he were struggling to stay focused.  He also noticed the handgun muzzle buried into the back of Clay’s skull.

“Okay?”

Alex nodded.  “Okay.”  He struggled to move over.  The passenger door opened, and at the same time Tony quickly opened the driver’s side door and rolled towards the safety of the front tires.  Alex said a quick prayer, then threw himself over the seats and fought his bad leg into the footwell of the driver’s side.  He quickly adjusted his legs so that he would be able to move on a moment’s notice.  Alex nervously gripped the steering wheel, thanking God that he still could turn a key and press a gas pedal.  Looking outside, he watched Clay’s captor intently through the Jeep's tinted windows.  The man was screaming at Justin, and it was hard to follow his movements.  In the distance, dogs growled.  _Those don’t sound friendly,_ Alex thought.  He squinted to see four dogs all straining at the edge of a fenced in spot near the back of the house.  It wouldn’t take much to set those dogs loose, and Alex feared they might manage it.

“…throw it on the ground, you fucking little bastard!”

Outside, Justin pitched the bags in front of him.  “Let him go, Seth!  You can shoot me, if you want!  Clay’s got nothing to do with this!”  He hoped he sounded a lot more confident than he felt. 

Clay jerked, and Justin knew it was because Seth had a death grip on his brother’s hair.  “Damn straight I’m gonna shoot you.  But I want you to watch first.  Watch your…brother, is it?”  Seth chuckled, and Justin didn’t like where this was going.  “…watch him pay for your fuck-up.”

The captive teen groaned.  “Justin…run.  Just…just run…”  Justin noticed the effort it was taking for Clay to even get those few words out.  There were fresh bruises on Clay’s face.  _Seth must have roughed him up after that video,_ he thought.  _On top of being drugged and who knows what else…_

The gun raised. _“No!”_ Justin screamed.

The Jeep suddenly roared to life, and Tony raced from his hiding spot, darting for the orange tree just behind Clay.  Seth’s attention was so focused on the haphazardly veering vehicle in front of him he never saw the boxer-in-training coming.  _“Motherfucker!”_ Tony screamed, hitting Clay’s tormentor with a series of punches, uppercuts and right hooks.  It was all Seth could do to get in edgewise.  He’d lost the gun, having had it knocked out of his hands within seconds of Tony’s attack.  Enraged, Seth began to fight.  He was giving punch after punch, but Tony was faster.

“Come on, Tony!” Justin screamed, and Tony looked up to see Clay sinking to the ground fast.  “I can’t carry him myself!”

Seth shot the Latino man an evil grin.  “I’ll get you too,” he threatened.

Tony drove his fist straight into his nose, breaking it. He followed with a series of kicks to the chest and gut.  “Fuck you, asshole!”  Satisfied that the threat was neutralized, he raced over to Clay -- and Justin, who was trying to get his brother into the back of the Jeep.

“Come on!” Alex shouted.  “The cops are almost here!  And those dogs over there look _pissed!_ ”

Just as Alex spoke, red and blue lights filled the night sky.  Soon their Jeep was surrounded by police cars as well as a pair of ambulances.  “Come on,” Tony said, cementing his grip under Clay’s arm.  “Help me get him checked out, huh?”

Justin nodded.  Slowly, they began to move Clay towards an ambulance.  Cops were milling about, and they saw Seth lying where Tony had left him.  A quick glance told Tony that, though he was willing to go to prison for Clay Jensen, he wouldn’t be doing time for murder tonight.  Seth was still moving about, and was screaming and pissed that he’d been caught.  “I wanna press charges!” he screamed.  “That kid nearly killed me!”

“Yeah, and you tortured and nearly killed another one, dipshit,” one of the other deputies said.  Tony recognized him as Deputy Evans, a good man, if a little by the book.  “Probably got a few licks in too.”

Tony winced a little.  He knew there were bruises on his stomach and ribs.  The guy was no trained fighter, but he could definitely hold his own in one.

“He tried to kill me!”

“I don’t think a judge is gonna care.  Sometimes judicial discretion can be a bitch, huh?”

The statement made Tony smile.  _Nope, not going to jail tonight.  Thank God._ He and Justin finally reached the ambulance, where a waiting medic moved quickly.  “I think he’s been drugged,” Justin was telling the woman.  “I’m not sure what, but it’s probably a cocktail.”

“We’re going straight to Mercy.  You can ride with us,” she said to Justin.  She looked at Tony.  “Sorry, you’ll have to follow.  No room.”

“That’s okay, ma’am,” he said.  He made sure that Clay was settled in and Justin was right next to him before heading back to Zach’s Jeep.  “Move over, Standall,” he said.  “No more driving for you tonight.”

“Thank God.  Now I _know_ I’m not ready for my license yet.”  Alex slid out of the driver’s seat and made his way to the passenger side, taking his time settling in.  The ambulance raced out the front entrance, lights flashing and siren blaring.  “I’m calling Mr. and Mrs. Jensen,” he said, pulling out his phone.  “They can meet us there.”

“Better call the girls too,” Tony said.  “Cause I don’t wanna be hiding from retaliation for the next six months, _comprende?_ ”


	28. Chapter 28

**November 20 th, 1:50 am**

_“Eighteen-year-old male, BP 98/70, unknown substances ingested”,_ the medics called out as the young patient was raced in.  Behind him, several young men kept pace with the gurney.  Carolyn Standall recognized the last of them as her youngest son.  She dropped the chart she had been reading.  “Alex!”  When she got no response, she shouted, “Alexander Dean Standall!”  Only then did the small cadre of boys stop running.  The fact that the patient had been taken into a restricted part of the hospital also helped.

“Mom, Mom, we got him,” Alex said breathlessly, limping his way towards her.  Another boy – Carolyn recognized this one as Tony Padilla – came over as well.  “We got Clay.”

“Oh, thank God,” the nurse said, heaving a huge sigh of relief.  “Thank God.  Did they…were they able to catch the man who did this?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tony said.  “We made sure of it.”  The way the young man flexed his knuckles, and the bruises forming on the sides of his face, told her enough.

“I expect Bill will be busy a while then,” Carolyn said simply.  “I’m afraid your friend will be in there a while.  I heard unknown substances…they’ll likely try to flush out his system.  That takes a while.  Plus, it limits what can be used.”

“Cause of drug interactions, right?” Alex asked. 

“Yeah.  Can’t fix one problem and then cause another.”  She smiled.  “Have his parents been called?”

As soon as she said it, Matt and Lainie Jensen burst through the doors.  “Where is he?” Lainie asked, her tone a cross between worried and demanding.

“Your son’s in there,” the nurse said, pointing at the door where their other son still stood sentry.  “It will be a while before he comes out.”

“Why?  What…what happened?” Matt asked.

“Clay was drugged, Mr. Jensen,” Alex explained.  “They don’t know with what, though.”

“Knowing Seth, it was a cocktail of some sort,” a welcome voice said bitterly.  Justin had made his way towards his parents and friends with a scowl on his face.  “He could barely string together a sentence, Matt.”  Brown waves shook.  “He could barely _stand.”_

“What the fuck does that?” Tony wondered.  “Sorry,” he said, looking at Mrs. Standall. 

“Did he seem like he could walk?  Was he coherent?”  A look crossed Mrs. Standall’s face.

“It took me _and_ Justin to take him about the length of this hallway, ma’am,” Tony said.  “He wasn’t walking right, that’s for sure.”

“Well, the doctors will look him over.  I’ll be sure to let them know of the situation.”  With that, she took her leave.

Alex sighed.  “What the hell happened to him?  Out there, I mean?” He flopped down into a waiting chair.

Lainie sat down next to him and took his hand.  “There’s no way to know, honey.  Not until Clay can tell us.”  She chuckled, though without mirth.  _“If_ he can tell us.”

“Did they catch him?  This Seth?” Matt asked.

“Oh yeah, we did,” Tony said.  Matt gave the young man the once over.  There was a story there, but it wasn’t going to be told tonight.  Tony then looked over at Justin, who was sitting across from Lainie.  “Foley there actually came up with a plan that worked.  I’m impressed.”

“We got lucky,” Justin said.  “That’s all.  Plus Alex listened for once.”

Alex smiled.  “Speed dial is great.”  Then he sighed.  “I hope Clay’s okay.”

Justin shrank into the chair.  “Define ‘okay.’”

“Walking, talking, breathing – you know, physically okay.  Mentally?  God, he’s as fucked as the rest of us.  More so now, probably.”  Alex caught Justin’s murderous look.  “But first things first, right?  At least, that’s what my therapist says.”

“They’re right.  Your therapist, I mean,” Matt said.  “Clay’s got to be physically well before we can focus on the mental.  It’ll take time.”  He sat next to Justin.  “How are _you,_ Justin?”

“Fine.”  The tone of his voice made it clear he was anything but.  “We need to worry about Clay first.”

“Honey, this has been hard on you too,” Lainie said.  “I can’t imagine…”

“I did a fucked-up thing, and _this_ is what happened.”  The teenager shook his head angrily.  “Everything good in my life I just seem to fuck up, I guess.”

The group fell silent.  Matt gave Lainie a pointed look.  She nodded.  _Oh, we are_ so _getting him into his therapist in the morning,_ she thought.  _Even if we have to drag her out of bed on a Saturday…_

* * *

 

**5 am**

“Are you here for Clay Jensen?” the doctor asked, looking at the little group in the small waiting area.  Most of them were half-asleep.  One skinny young man had managed to curl up into a ball in the hard chair he sat in and snored.

A blonde woman responded first. “Yes, we are.  I’m his mother.  Matt,” she said, shaking a sleeping man awake.  The kid wrapped in a ball raised his head.  His eyes were red, and his face was splotchy.  “Matt, Justin, the doctor…”

“Is Clay all right?” the young man asked.

“He’s going to be all right,” the doctor said.  The group – which also included a short Latino man and the son of one of the floor nurses – took a collective breath of relief.

“That’s wonderful,” the older man said.  The doctor guessed this was his patient’s father. 

“He had a strange cocktail in him – depressants and paralytics.”

“Fuck me,” the younger man – his patient’s brother, perhaps? – spat.  “When did that asshat get into those?”

“Does Clay have a drug problem?  Anything we should know about?”  the physician asked, concerned.

The group responded as one. “No!”

“No, he doesn’t.  Not that we know about.  Justin?  Tony? Alex?”

All three shook their heads vehemently.  “Clay’s not into that shit,” the one called Justin said firmly.  He then looked at the doctor.  “He was kidnapped a couple days ago.  The…the guy who took him forced that shit on him.  I know it.”  The look of rage was unmistakable.

“Well, that’s good to know.  I don’t forsee a problem.  He’s going to be tired, and won’t move around much for a little while, but it’s best to encourage him to do so.  He also presented with some dehydration and malnutrition, but nothing serious.  He’ll be hungry and thirsty for a bit, but we’ve got him on an IV for that right now to get his levels back to normal.”

The thought of her child not being fed properly and being denied water angered Lainie.  It was getting harder to temper her rage.

“There were several cuts on his feet.  It seems he stepped into or walked over some glass.  We got out the fragments that were stuck in there, and cleaned the wounds.  Nothing too deep, but walking would have been painful for him. A couple needed stitches, so he'll need to stay off his feet for a few days.”

_So_ that’s _why he sounded like he was crying when we took him to the ambulance,_ Tony realized.  _We practically had to_ carry _his ass…no wonder…_

“His temperature was a bit high, but no infection.  It seemed like he might have suffered a little heat exhaustion at one point, which might also explain the dehydration, but nothing I’d worry about.”  The doctor consulted a chart.  “There were also some deep abrasions around his wrists.  We cleaned and dressed those, and I don’t expect there to be any scarring.  If there is, it will be very faint.”

_Scars?  Don’t my sons have enough of those?_ Matt wondered. 

“Can we see him?” the nurse’s son asked.  _Alex,_ the doctor remembered.

“Well, right now he’s asleep, and I’d like him to stay that way for as long as possible.  He seemed ready to pass out the moment he hit my table.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t slept much in the past couple of days.”

“Can we sit with him?” the brother asked.

“By all means,” the doctor told him.  “But not all of you, and not all at once.  I’d recommend his family go in, at first.”  He looked at the other two.  “Perhaps after he’s been awake for a while it might be better for friends to visit.”

“Okay,” Alex said.  “Thanks.”  He sighed.  The Jensens and Justin were going into Clay’s room.  The young man turned to Tony.  “Hey, can you give me a ride?”

“Sure.  Where to?”

“Zach’s place.  I don’t wanna stay by myself right now, and since my folks will both be working doubles…”

“Okay, yeah. I gotta give Dempsey back his new ride anyway.  I don’t trust him with Livonia.”  At Alex’s puzzled look, he explained. “My new car.  She’s a 1968 Shelby Mustang, off the line in Livonia, Michigan.  Hence the name.  It’s a miracle Dempsey can drive a stick.  Did you text the girls?”

“Yeah.  I got Jess.  She got Sheri.  I better give them the update.”  He pulled out his phone as the two walked down the hall towards the elevator.  As they walked, Alex turned and said, “You were pretty good out there.”

Tony was silent a minute.  Then he smiled, that Yoda-smile he had that irritated the fuck out of the group sometimes.  “Yeah?  You were pretty good too.”

“Yep.  NASCAR, here I come.”  The joke made both boys laugh as they entered the elevator and headed for home.  As they left the hospital, the sun began to rise.

_It might just be a nice Saturday after all,_ Alex thought.  


	29. Chapter 29

**November 20 th, 6:30 am**

The moment Alex stepped into the Dempsey house, he could feel the chill in the air.  It had nothing to do with the air conditioning or the falling temperatures outside.  “Hey,” he said, staring at the silent breakfast table.  “Is this a bad time?”

“No, Alex,” Mrs. Dempsey said, her plastic smile in place.  “You’re welcome to join us.”

“We have pancakes,” May said.  “And strawberries.”

“Sold,” Alex said.  He hobbled over to the waiting chair.  A plate of pancakes appeared.  Next to him, Zach poked at his bowl of Wheaties.  “Dude, it’s like the Cold War came back,” he said quietly to his best friend.  “What the hell…?”

“Mom’s pissed.  No, wait, not pissed, ‘cause we don’t _do_ pissed around here.  She’s _disappointed.”_ Alex noticed the slight raise in his friend’s tone, and it startled him a little.

“Disappointed about what?”

“Zach sold his car,” May said.  “Mom didn’t know.”

“Your father bought that car for you, Zachary,” Mrs. Dempsey admonished.  “What would he say?”

“I know _exactly_ what Dad would say, Mom.  He’d be proud of me for trying to help my friend.  For doing the _right thing_ instead of what’s _expected_ of me.”  The spoon clattered angrily in Zach’s bowl.

“Mrs. Dempsey, you did hear what happened?” Alex asked.  “About what happened to our friends?”

“I know that the Jensen boy was kidnapped,” she said primly.  “And that’s terrible, but it’s not our responsibility…”

“Mom, Clay is my friend.  Justin is my friend.  There’s no way their parents could have come up with…”

“…that boy, Justin,” Mrs. Dempsey said dismissively, shaking her head.  “Troubled, that one.  You don’t need friends like that, Zachary.”

“No, because apparently I need friends who are rich rapists, right, Mom?  Because Bryce fucking Walker is the kind of friend I need, because he’s ‘like us,’ right?  You do realize what you’re saying?”

Mrs. Dempsey was taken aback.  “Zachary Shan-Yung Dempsey!  Your sister…”

“Mom, I know.  I heard the tapes too.  Misty had a set from Tara.” The girl turned to her brother, who was dumbfounded.  “You screwed up.  But I know Hannah was a friend of yours.  She was special, wasn’t she?”

Zach nodded, tears welling in his eyes.  “Yeah, May.  She was.”

“And is it true Clay Jensen is the other voice on Tape 14?  You know, the confession tape?”

“Zachary, Maybelle…”

“It is,” Alex confirmed.  “Bryce nearly killed him, too.”  The Dempseys stared at their guest.  “What?” he said, taking a large bite of pancake covered in syrup.  _Ahh, sugar,_ he thought.

“See, Mom?  You’d have me support a _rapist_ but allow a psychopath to kill a _good, innocent_ kid?  How fucked up is _that_?”  Zach pushed himself away from the table.  “Dad would have told me I did the right thing.  I tried to get into my college fund too, Mom.  To give the Jensens.  To help Clay.”

“I’m…I’m not hearing this, Zachary!  These people…I’m not sure they’re the right influence for you…”

“What?  A kid who has more balls to stand up for the right thing than me?  Another one who’s seen enough shit in life to cover half this town in it?  Hell, even Alex has issues, and _his_ parents actually _talk_ to him!”

“Dude, what the hell?” Alex snapped.

“I’m sick of it, Alex.  ‘Everything’s fine.’  ‘How would this or that look?’ My whole fucking life.  Not anymore.”

The lady of the house was taken aback.  “I never…”

“I sat right here, Mom, after I testified at Hannah’s trial, and _told_ you I’d felt like she did.  That _I’d_ considered suicide myself, at one point.  And you know what you said to me?” Zach turned to Alex.  “You know what she said?  ‘You do not think these things.  That…that _girl_ has put thoughts in your head.  You’re fine!”  Dark black hair shook angrily.  “Well, I’ve considered suicide.  I didn’t do it, but I…I wanted to.  After Hannah.  May’s right – she _was_ special, and I fucked it up. And she was right after Dad…”  He took a breath.  “I’m part of the reason Bryce got found out, did you know that?  I gave Clay and Justin the Polaroids those assholes took of themselves _raping_ drunk, stoned, or unconscious girls!  I led them to the Clubhouse.  Clay, though – he was a _goddamned_ force to be reckoned with.  And Justin…yeah, he fucked up big time, but he stepped up big too.  I don’t know a lot of people _willing_ to go to jail just to see justice done.”

May got up and gave her big brother a hug.  “It sounds like they are good people, Zach.  Honestly?  I didn’t like Bryce much anyway.  He was too…full of himself, I suppose.”

Zach gave his beloved little sister a watery smile.  “Thanks, May.”

“Well,” Mrs. Dempsey said.  “I’m…I…I need time.  To process.”

“Um, Zach?” Alex ventured.  “How about we take May for a ride in your new car?  And we could tell her all about the thrilling heroics it saw last night?”

“Could we?  I like Jeeps, actually.” May stared out the wide expanse of window at her big brother’s replacement car.  “At least it’s not that wreck you brought home last night.  Way cool!”

“Okay,” Zach said, drinking down his milk.  “Let me get dressed.”

“Hey, May,” Alex said, leaning towards the girl in a confidential manner.  “You know what?  That ‘wreck’ is actually worth a lot of money.  Our friend Tony redoes classic cars, and that’s one’s pretty rare, I guess.  Once it’s done, though…”

“Oh. Wow.”  May smiled.  “That’s cool.”

“Hey, Alex?  You still have the tapes on your phone?” Zach asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Yeah.  Why?”

“Lemme see ‘em.”  Puzzled, Alex handed over his phone.  Zach flicked through a few screens, and then handed the device to his mother.  “Here,” he said.  “Hannah’s tapes.  You want to know the truth?  I mean, the _real_ truth, and not the sanitized bullshit you got from your friends and the Walkers?  Listen to them.  Particularly Tape 7, ‘cause that’s mine.  Oh, and Tape 12.  That’s Bryce’s.  And Tape 14.”  He looked at May.  “The confession tape.”

“This girl…she was confused, Zachary.  She told lies.  Hurtful things, because she was…”

“Upset?  Angry?  Hurt?  Yeah, she was all those things.  But you want to know why I’m ‘acting out’, according to you.  Listen to them while we’re gone.  When we come back, you and I can talk.  And I mean _really_ talk.  Or I’m done.”  Zach pulled on his light coat.  “I’m just…I’m just done.  Something is gonna change around here, and I’m already doing something about it.”

With that, Alex finished the last of his orange juice and pulled on his coat.  “Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Dempsey,” he said.  He turned to May.  “Ready?”

“Yes.  Now, about those ‘thrilling heroics’…”


	30. Chapter 30

**November 20 th, 9:14am**

The first thing Clay noticed was that he was lying on something soft.  It was a far cry from the hard, dirty, splintered floor he’d passed out on hours before.  His feet were covered in something thick and warm. Clay’s wrists stung, but not as they had when they had been bound.  He moved his limbs experimentally, praying that they were still free.  Clay kept his eyes closed.  _If I open them, all this will vanish…_

“Clay?  Honey, are you awake?”

 _Mom?_ A hand patted his shoulder, and it was nothing like the ones that had grabbed or manhandled him over the past few days.  “Matt, Justin…I think he’s awake.”

“Come on, Clay,” a familiar young voice said.  “Wake up.”

“No…” the teen mumbled. 

“Clay, it’s okay.  You’re safe.”  The sound of his father’s voice stilled him.  “You’re safe, son.”

Gingerly, Clay opened his eyes.  The sight of his family surrounding his hospital bed made his heart swell.  “I’m…I’m…”

“Yeah, we gotcha,” Justin said.  Tears were welling in his brother’s eyes.  “Nice work, by the way.”

Clay’s brows crinkled.  “Huh?”

“Apparently, you sent messages in those videos we were sent,” his father explained.  “It went a long way in helping us find you.”

 _They got it?_ Clay smiled.  _They got it!_

“And, uh, Clay?  The _hell_ were you thinking, telling me to stay away?” Justin challenged.  “Do you really think I would have left you there?  With _Seth_?!”

 _Seth.  So_ that’s _his name._ “He was…he was gonna kill me, Justin!” Clay cried.  “You really think I wanted him to get you too?”

“There is _no_ universe where I would let _you_ pay for _my_ fuck-up, Jensen,” Justin said stubbornly.  “Not a chance.”

“Boys,” Lainie said, and both of her children stilled.  “We’re just so glad you’re all right.”

 _Physically, maybe._   Clay fiddled with a string on the coverlet that enveloped him.  His eyes fluttered closed, and he instantly saw the dark, dank, vile prison he’d been trapped in.  A sharp breath escaped his lungs, and Clay willed his eyes open again.

“Clay?  You all right?”

Ashamed, the boy shook his head.  “I…I saw the…room, I guess.  The one I was… kept in.”

The scent of his mother’s perfume – roses and rainwater – wafted toward his nose as she put her arms around him.  Clay leaned into the hug.  It felt good, to feel safe and loved again.  “Oh, honey.”

“Great,” the first Jensen child said.  “More therapy.”

“Let’s get you well first, son,” Matt said.  Clay felt his father’s thick fingers carding through his hair.  It felt great.  It made him feel protected, made him feel…

“… _you’re not going the fuck anywhere, asshole.” Thin, bony fingers yanked on his hair, keeping him in place as he knelt on the rocky earth below him.  “He’s gonna hand me my money, then he watches me put a bullet in your head…”_

“Clay?” Justin’s voice broke the boy’s trance.  “Clay, what’s wrong?”

“Honey?” his mother asked, her voice full of concern.

Clay shook his head.  His father moved his hand.  “I…I’m okay,” he said.  “Really, guys.  I’m fine.”

The look his adoptive brother gave him clearly called _bullshit_ on that answer.  “Okay, I _will_ be fine,” he amended, boring his gaze into Justin’s eyes.  “I’m just tired.”

“It’s okay, Clay,” his father said.  Then he turned to the rest of the family.  “Okay, so.  Justin, we’ve put in a call to Andrea, and she can take you in half an hour.  She’ll meet us here.”  At the look his second son was giving him, Matt added, “And no arguments.  Clay will be here when you’re finished.”  He turned to his wife.  “I’m going to go home and shower, get us all some clothes.”  To his first child, Matt asked, “Real clothes or pajamas?”

A hand waved dismissively. “Pajamas, Dad.  Easy.”

“Pajamas it is.  Is anyone hungry?”  He paused.  “Clay, don’t answer that.”

A small grin threatened to break out across Clay’s face.  _God, it feels good to smile again._   “I could eat a house.  Or Justin.  Either or.”

“Shut up, Jensen.”  The same smile washed over Justin’s face too.  Then he grew serious.  “Um, Matt?  Shouldn’t we call Clay’s therapist?  I mean, since…”

“We’ll cross that bridge once Clay’s discharged, Justin,” his mother said firmly.  “But yes, it is on the list of things to do.”

 _Shit._ The thought of talking to someone about all this…this _shit_ was a bit daunting.  Clay had barely had time to begin processing it all himself. But to _talk_ about it?

_Now I get it, Jessica. Now I get it._

“…should be back in an hour, hour and a half.  Lainie, you’re good here?”

“I’ll be fine, Matt.  Go.”  With that, Clay watched his mother attempt to make herself comfortable in the hard plastic visitor’s chair. It was taking a supreme effort on her part.  “Should have asked your dad to get some cushions for these things,” she grumbled.

“I need coffee,” Justin said.  “I could…”

“Oh, no you don’t, Justin Andrew!  Not a chance.  When Andrea comes in to get you, you can get coffee.”  Clay watched as his mother fished a five dollar bill out of her pocket and handed it to his brother.  “Damn.  That reminds me…”

“All that’s evidence, Lainie,” Justin said.  “Cops’ll have it now.”

“We’ll sort it out later,” his mother soothed, answering her own question.  She turned to Clay.  “I understand now, about sharing your room.  Though I still don’t see how it stops him.”

Clay shrugged.  “Me either.  But it works.”

“Hey, what works?  I told you, someone has to look out for your dumb ass.”  That mischievous grin of Justin’s flashed brightly.  “Without me in there, you’d be stuck in your head half the time.”

Though meant lightly, Clay swallowed hard.  _My head is gonna be a really fucked-up place for a while.  Thanks, Justin._

Soon there was a knock on the door.  A tall woman with red hair poked her head inside.  “Hello, Justin,” she said.  “Ready?”

The sigh that escaped his brother’s lungs could have filled a giant bounce house.  “Yeah, I guess.”

“Great.”

“Oh, he wants coffee.  And he has a habit of running.  Could you…?” Lainie asked, her eyebrows quirked up expectantly.

“Of course.  Coffee it is.”  With that, she and Justin left the room.

Suddenly the room seemed empty.  Clay shivered.  He’d spent more than enough time either alone or ignored the past couple of days.  “Mom?” he asked, his voice small.

“Yeah, honey?”  A hand took Clay’s into her own.

“Don’t…don’t leave, okay?”  Shame flushed a lightly freckled face.  “I…I don’t want to be alone.”

Lainie gave a sad smile.  “I’m not going anywhere, Clay.  And your dad will be back soon.  Justin’s just down the hall, and I have no doubt he wishes he could be in here too.”  A tear trailed down his mother’s cheek.  “Oh, I’m so glad we found you,” she said, her voice in a rushed whisper.  “So glad.”

The tears finally broke through.  “Me too, Mom,” Clay said in a watery voice.  “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if Justin has a middle name in canon, but I liked Andrew. It sounded nice.


	31. Chapter 31

**November 20 th, 12:05pm**

“Justin, we can use this time and just sit,” Andrea Rickenbacher said, folding her hands and laying them on the cheap round table.  “But your parents called me in for a reason, I’m guessing?”

Her client dropped his head onto the same table.  “What’s there to say, Andrea?  I fucked up.  I almost got Clay killed.”  Green eyes peeked from behind the small amount of brown hair that fell as bangs before them.  “Fuck, I did it _twice_.”

“So, explain.  How did you almost kill Clay twice?”

The diamond-shaped head shot up, a scowl plastered onto it.  “The first time I stole from that asshole, he’d thrown me out of my own house.  _My_ house!”  A puff of air escaped his nostrils violently.  “So…so I took his money.  I wanted him to _pay_ for throwing me out.”  The scowl disappeared, and Justin’s face bore shame.  “Seth, he…he almost strangled me, just before throwing me out.  And he…he would have killed me, too, if only my…if Amber hadn’t stopped him.”

The redhead penciled a few notes on her legal pad.  “Amber?  Isn’t that your mom?  I mean, your birth mom?”

Justin’s scowl returned, and it was ugly.  “That fucking _bitch._   She sided with _him_ and watched me have to run for it.  Then she lets me rot on the streets.  Last night, when I _begged_ her just to tell me what she knew about where Seth’s operation was, even just an address, she demanded a hundred dollars for the information!”  Tears were beginning to well in the boy’s eyes, and Andrea handed him a box of tissues.  He ignored them in favor of his shirtsleeve.  “Told me Matt and Lainie were good for it.”  His eyes rolled.  “I saw them, Matt and Lainie, on the phone with banks, with anyone they could think of that might help them raise Clay’s…ransom, I guess.  There’s no _way_ that had that much money.  And here Amber is, all high and fucked and screaming she wants money – just to be a decent person!”

A few more notes went on the pad.  “What happened, Justin?”

The boy swallowed thickly.  “I…I called her out on her _bullshit._   I told her she didn’t have a son.  I told her to stay the hell _away_ from me, and from my family.”

“The Jensens?”

Justin nodded morosely.  “And…”  The tears rolled harder.  A tissue wiped some of the moisture away.  “And then there’s Matt and Lainie, watching their real child being…I dunno, threatened, tortured?  And here I am, the cause of it.  What if we’d fucked it up last night?  What if Clay…?”

Andrea struggled to keep her composure.  “But you didn’t.  Clay’s alive.  He’s okay.”

“Oh, _fuck_ that!”  Justin spat the words as though they were lead.  “Physically, maybe.  But I saw him hide a bad dream.  Or…what d’you call ‘em?  Those things, you know, where you see or hear something and it’s _real_ , but it’s not?”

“Flashback?”

Justin nodded.  “He admitted to one.  I know he hid another.”

“Do you have those?  Flashbacks, I mean?”

Silence reigned for a long moment.  “Yeah,” her client admitted.  “I do.”  He took a sip of his half-cold coffee.  “I’ve had them before.  Of Seth strangling me.  Clay woke me up from that one.  I clocked him in the jaw.  I didn’t mean it or anything!  I mean…I was asleep…”

Andrea scribbled a little more on her pad.  “You said you’d killed Clay twice.  What was the second time?”

“Hmm? Oh.”  Justin shook his head a little.  It was probably to clear his thoughts.  “I stole from Seth twice.  The second time, the Jensens found out I was an addict.  And I mean, that was my fault too.  Clay tried so hard to help me get clean – so hard!  But, the tapes had been released, and I was just coming back to school, and everyone was just… _staring_ at me, like I’d killed someone.  Which, I guess, I kind of did.”

“You’re talking about Hannah Baker.”

Justin nodded.  “Matt and Lainie were arguing, and Clay was pissed, and they all started yelling, and…I just, I couldn’t deal.  I took my stuff and I left.  I knew where Amber was holed up, in that house with _him._   So I went.  She was exactly how I left her, all high and fucked and _in love_.”  Andrea noticed the hurt in Justin’s voice towards the end of the sentence.  “And I went there to steal his money, because once again, I had to go to the streets.  And I knew he had cash.  I took a lot more that time.”  He sighed.  “Amber, she…she told me he’d kill her, if he found out.  So I left her a few bills, and told her to get lost herself.”

“What stopped you?  From leaving?”

Thin shoulders shrugged.  “Clay.  He’d been texting me all day.  I scrolled through, like, fifty messages from him, asking where I was, if I was okay, to just fucking call him back.”  Justin bit his lip.  “I’d…I’d never had someone do that, before.  The first time I ran, I tried to get help.  I texted all my friends.  No one answered.  Not one.”  Long, bony fingers pressed themselves flat on the cheap pressboard.  “Clay’s last message, though…that sealed it.  Four words:  _I need you.  Please.”_

Andrea looked up from her note-taking.  “Four words?”

“Mm-hmm.  I called him, and…”  He sighed.  “You know the rest.”

The therapist laid her pencil down on the table.  “Matt seemed concerned that you thought they wouldn’t want you anymore,” she told her client.  “Because of what happened?”

Justin nodded again, shame flooding his face.  “If Clay…I mean, if Seth had…it would have been my fault.  Seth took Clay because I stole that money from him.  Would _you_ want to keep the kid who got your child killed?  I mean, your _real_ child?”

“You seem pretty focused on that point – that Clay is a ‘real’ child, and you are not.”

“Andrea, I’ve been an accident.  I was a welfare check.  I was a caretaker, a meal ticket, a beggar, and a punching bag.  Not once was I ever someone’s _real_ child.  The woman who gave birth to me didn’t want kids.  She didn’t want me at all, unless I was useful to her in some way.  There’s no reason Matt and Lainie would keep me, after I got Clay killed.  I mean, it would be…it would be…”

“Awkward?”

“No shit.”

Andrea sighed.  Her heart broke for this boy.  “Justin, I want you to listen to me.  I know that’s hard, but really focus and _listen._ ”

Justin nodded, his eyes staring at a point on the wall past her.

“You are not responsible for Seth’s actions.  Not for a second.”

“I know that.”

The therapist shook her red hair softly.  “I don’t think you do.  When you stole from him, the first time, you were doing it out of necessity, yes?”

Morosely, Justin nodded.  “Yeah,” he said softly.

“You couldn’t have survived without some form of cash, or barter.  Not as long as you did.  And you had reason to – he was removing you from a place that was rightfully yours.  While I can’t condone theft, I _can_ understand why you did it.  And in doing so, it helped you get to where you are now.”

“No.  Clay did that.  Seriously, you don’t know…”

“The second time, you were afraid.  You’d found a harbor, a safe place, and it was crumbling in front of your eyes.  I imagine when people started to raise their voices or get angry, the outcome usually wasn’t good for you, huh?”

Greenish eyes dropped towards the table.  “No,” Justin said softly.  “They weren’t.”

“Like it or not, you were afraid.  You’d been thrown out once before, and you were afraid it would happen again.  So you drew on the framework you knew, which was to run away.  And you knew where a source of ready cash was, so you went and took it.  _That_ time, it was theft, plain and simple.  But even then, it was you trying to strike back at the man who’d upended your life.”

“I just…I knew he’d have money.  And…and he owed me!  I didn’t deserve to be homeless!”

Andrea nodded.  “No one does.  But Justin, in Seth’s view, you’d _already_ stolen from him.  That first time, before you left for the city.  No matter what happened the second time, a man like Seth was going to want retribution for you taking what he saw as his.”

Justin mulled on that a long moment.  “But the second time, I tagged Clay.  As…as important to me, I guess.   Seth took Clay because he’s important to me.”

“Yeah, he did.  But he could have taken any one of your friends.  Anyone you are close to.  He could have gone after the Jensens themselves.”  Andrea shrugged.  “I can’t explain Seth.  He’s not my client.  But _you_ are, and from what I can tell you just need to figure out that you have worth too.  In fact, I think you’re starting to.”

“Oh?  How?”

“You’re choosing to remove toxic relationships from your life.”  Andrea lifted her pale hand and began to tick off her fingers.  “Bryce.  Montgomery.  Your mother…”

“Amber.  Lainie is my mother.  The woman who loves me.”  Justin’s eyes were wet again.  “The woman who gives a shit about me.  Who didn’t care that I was a fucked-up addict who’d ruined people’s lives.”

“And that’s for another time.”  Andrea checked her watch.  “Well, that was a lot, huh?”

Justin nodded, swiping at his face with his sleeve again.

“I think we should schedule another appointment for Thursday, and I’ll clear two hours.  I want you to think about what we talked about here, Justin.  I want you to realize that _you_ are the Jensen’s son by _choice_ , and that is just as real as being their son by birth.  Okay?”

“Okay,” a strangled voice eked out.

“Come on,” Andrea said.  “Let’s head back to Clay’s room, huh?”

Justin nodded, and the pair headed down the hallway.  Andrea watched as he slid through the door and gave his mother a giant hug.  _This is gonna take some work,_ she thought.  _But I think he can do it._


	32. Chapter 32

**November 23, 4:30pm**

“…ow!  Damn it!”

Justin shook his head.  “Dumbass, there’s a reason the doctors _told_ you not to move around.”  He watched as Clay winced at his feet, which were still cocooned in thick gauze.  The stitches would come out in ten more days, and after four days Justin could feel the irritation wafting off his brother in waves.  “What do you want?  You know I’ll get it for you…”

“Right.  So you can, like, take a piss for me?  Maybe a crap?  ‘Cause even though I didn’t do all that well at bio, I’m pretty sure those are still things a person has to do for themselves.”  Clay’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh.”

An answer was not presenting itself.  The Jensen’s house was bigger than most of the places Justin had stayed in (Bryce’s mansion and Zach’s house excluded), but it was not designed well for wheelchair use.  There were too many sharp turns, too many narrow spaces – not to mention the fact that the bedrooms were all on the second floor.  Matt and Lainie had fixed up the living room to serve as a temporary “bedroom” for Clay while his feet recuperated, but the fact remained that the only place Clay could use the bathroom was in the half-bathroom next to the door to the porch.  It was barely a closet.  Justin had asked about that once, and Lainie had told him it actually _had_ been a closet at one point.  _“The old owners needed a second bathroom, but didn’t want to add on,”_ she’d explained.  _“Too expensive, and they couldn’t get the permits.  So they used what they had.”_  Usually, their parents helped with this part, but both were working late that night.

Finally, Justin spied a desk chair in Matt’s office.  It had wheels.  “Here,” he said, fetching the item and wheeling it over.  “Get in.”

Clay looked at him with one brow crinkled.  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Well, it’s this, or…”

“Fuck.” Clay awkwardly managed to maneuver himself into the chair.  Justin then pushed his brother all the way to the tiny bathroom, where the pair managed to squeeze in enough to get Clay out of the chair and onto the toilet.  “I feel like a fucking moron,” he complained.

“Whatever.”  Justin stepped out, allowing Clay some privacy.  He fleetingly remembered the time Clay had been forced to stand outside the shower so as to hide the fact Justin was even in the house.  It was the least he could do, he thought, to return the favor.  After a few minutes, he called in, “You need any help in there?”

“No.”  A pause.  “Yes.  Fuck my life.”

“Hey,” Justin said, coming in.  He saw Clay fiddling with his pajama pants, which he’d managed to hike up just to the hip.  “Don’t say that.”

“What?”

Justin gave him a _look_.  “Look, I know this sucks, and I’d be pissed too…”

“It _does_ suck.  I _am_ pissed.”  Clay glared, more out of frustration and misplaced anger than anything else.  “I mean, technically?  This is _your_ fault.”

“I know.”  Justin paused in his work, Clay’s pants only halfway over the hip bone.  “Believe me, I know.”

Clay didn’t respond.  Justin managed to get him back on the chair and wheeled him back to the couch, where Clay wasted no time in tossing himself onto the overstuffed makeshift bed.  His face was cloudy, and the couple of times Justin tried to catch his eye he forcefully looked away.

“I get that you’re pissed at me,” Justin said finally.  “I mean, I get it.  But…I can’t help that Seth did this to you.”  He stood up, crossed the room and stood right in Clay’s field of vision.  “I wish he _had_ done it to me.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”  Justin was confused.  “Why did he pick you, or why didn’t he do this to me?”

“I dunno.”  Clay sighed.  “Both, I guess?”

Right at that moment, Justin thanked his lucky stars that he _had_ talked with his therapist a few days before.  “I don’t know.  Like my therapist said, we’re not Seth.  There’s no way _to_ know, not for sure.”  He took a deep breath.  “But, to answer your question…”

“Yeah?  So?”

Justin shrugged.  “I don’t know why he didn’t do this to me.  I mean, from having to _live_ with the asshole before, that was what I _thought_ he’d do.  I figured…y’know, he’d find me and fucking pound the shit out of me until he could leave me for dead.”  Shame filled Justin’s face.  “I still don’t know why he _didn’t._   Every time he’d had some junkie customer of his ‘fall behind’ on payments, that’s pretty much what he’d do.  Either he’d kick the shit out of them, or he’d send some ‘employee’ of his to do it.”  The boy paused, thinking hard for a minute.

“Why didn’t he…I dunno, just kill them, then?”  Clay shivered.  The act sent a thrill of cold down Justin’s spine, and he knew that they weren’t from the drop in temperature outside.  “I mean, I’ve had the shit kicked out of me – more than once, honestly – but this guy…Seth, I guess?  He seemed like he _liked_ seeing me afraid.”  Clay’s face paled a little.  “He _liked_ seeing me in pain.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Seth.” Justin moved over and sat next to his brother, who was resting his feet on the marble-top coffee table in front of them.  He inhaled deeply.  “My birth mother brought home asshole after junkie after abusive bastard, claiming she was in love.  All I ever saw was men who wanted to get high.  To get a quick, steady fuck.  To take control of a woman and her kid.”  He shrugged.  “But of all of them, Seth was the worst.  He was all three, rolled into a dealer package.”  He looked at Clay.  “The dealers I’ve dealt with, some of ‘em were decent.  I mean, for a dealer.  Long as you paid in full, you were okay.” Justin bit his lip.  He could feel Clay’s expectant gaze boring down on him.  “Some of ‘em, though…they _liked_ the misery they were spreading.  It’s about power.”

“Don’t you mean money?”  Clay continued to stare, his expression growing cold.  “That’s all this guy cared about, was his money.

Justin waggled his hand a little.  “Clay, money is all about power.  I mean, look at Bryce.”

The two teenagers sat in silence for a few minutes.  Justin could see the wheels in his brother’s head turning slowly, but gaining momentum. 

“I mean, I knew that money equaled power,” Clay said finally.  “I’m not stupid.  You’re right.  Fucking Bryce.”

“Seth’s kind of built the same, I think.  He’s just…” Thin shoulders raised.  “He _looks_ like a bad guy.  Not like Bryce.”

Clay swallowed.  “He…he was gonna kill me, Justin.”  The younger boy saw a pair of lips press together nervously.  “He was gonna kill _both_ of us.  I…I think he’d always planned it.  He kept telling me that you’d give him his money, and then he’d make sure you saw me…”

 _Oh, Jesus fuck._ Justin knew there were a thousand ways their rescue attempt could have gone wrong.  _If Alex hadn’t… If Tony_ _hadn't_ …oh, _fucking Christ!_ He looked at Clay, his heart pounding.

Clay stared back, his face wet.  “Still doesn’t explain why he picked me.  I mean…”

“God, for a smart kid, you are a dumbass,” Justin said in exasperation.  “You haven’t figured that one out yet?”

“Well…no.  I mean, there’s Jess…”

“Who I still love, but not like…not like before.  I can’t.  Too much shit went down.”

Clay continued.  “Okay, Alex then.  Or…or Zach.  I mean, they…”

“Yeah, they’re my friends, and some of my closest ones.  God, you really need it spelled out?”

The older boy was taken aback.  “Apparently?”

“Dumbass, it’s because _you_ are the most important person in my life.  And, y’know, Matt and Lainie, but…”

“Me?”

Justin nodded.  He didn’t trust himself to speak.  “Clay, without you, I’d be…I’d still be on the street.  Still an addict.  Probably dead.  Or worse.”  Tears were running down the boy’s face, and he didn’t bother to conceal them.  “I mean, I know you had your reasons…and I know you hated me...well, then, anyway, but, I dunno, something changed, I guess?”  A watery smile flickered upon a diamond-shaped face.  “Now?  I couldn’t imagine _not_ having you in my life.”  The smile faded.  “And somehow, Seth figured that out.  If I had to guess, _that’s_ why he picked you.”

With that, Justin looked away.  He was trying to give his brother some space to compose himself.   After a few minutes, he said, “Believe me, I _wish_ Seth had just taken me.  Or…or whatever.  I meant it, that night.  I’m done with doing fucked-up things.  At least, I’m done with doing _really_ fucked-up things.”

Clay settled back into the couch.  “Thanks, though.  For…well, you know….”

Justin dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

“Hey, I saw that there’s new episodes of _Death in Paradise_ on Netflix,” Clay said, a mischievous grin beginning to form. 

“With the hot French chick?”

Clay nodded.  “Yup.  Wanna do a marathon?”

Normally, Justin wouldn’t have.  Mysteries hadn’t really been his thing.  But there was something about those damn shots of beautiful beaches, and the pretty women…and it was just mindless fun.  Clay had been the one to turn him onto it, and now he was hooked.  Like _Jurassic Park, Narcos_ and _Alien Killer Robots,_ it became their thing – except the comics, which now most of their friends liked too.  “Sure.  But we do the whole thing.  I wanna see _both_ hot French chicks, Jensen.”

“Two hot French chicks, coming up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Death in Paradise" is a real thing, folks. It's a "locked room" murder-mystery series from the BBC, and there are, over the course of the series, two very attractive French ladies in the cast. Justin would definitely approve. :-)


	33. Chapter 33

**December 6th, 5pm**

“How’re you holding up?”

Clay grimaced.  “Like, how do you think?”  He was sitting on the pale pink couch in his therapist’s office.  “First day out of the house, and I’m _here._ ”

David Rollins sighed.  A dark hand rubbed against a dark brow.  “Clay, you’re frustrated.  I get it.”

“Do you?  Do you have any idea?”  The teenager scoffed, throwing a hand up in disgust.  “I mean, having to rely on, like, _everyone_ to get you stuff?  Not being able to leave the couch without help?”  Clay sighed.  “And let’s not even talk about using the bathroom…I mean, _fuck._   I think I cried when I got to actually take a shower this morning.  An actual _shower._ ”  A small nose wrinkled.  “I smelled worse than Justin did when we were hiding him in my room, for Christ’s sake!”

Long fingers tapped against a tablet screen.  “Your parents say you’ve been having nightmares.”

Clay scowled again.  “I’m fine.”

A long sigh came out of a fit pair of lungs.  “You know, having nightmares is normal.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never had them?  Not once, ever?”

Clay mumbled something under his breath.  David chose to ignore it.  “I thought so.”  He sat down the tablet.  “What do you see, when you have them?”

“Nothing.”

“Not _nothing._   From what I’ve been led to believe, you actually wake up screaming, Clay.”

“Do you, like, live in my house?  Or…or are there cameras?”  David knew the look on his client’s face.  He was getting pissed.  “Fuck, now I can’t even have a bad dream, apparently…”

“Clay, do you realize no one in your house has been able to sleep for about two weeks?”

The question put the boy on edge.  “Yeah, they have.”  He paused.  “Haven’t they?”

David shook his head.  “I want you to think about the last two weeks.”  At Clay’s expression, he held up a hand to silence him.  “I mean, _really_ think.  What has the breakfast table looked like?”

Clay thought a moment.  “Like, normal, I guess?”

“Close your eyes.”

The boy did.

“Imagine yourself going to breakfast.  Tell me about it.  What happens?”

Clay shrugged, his eyes still closed tight.  “I go in the kitchen.  Everyone’s there.  Dad’s looking at the paper.  Mom’s checking her phone – trial calendar, files, stuff like that.  Justin…he’s eating.”

“What is he eating?”

“Cereal, I think?”  David saw his client’s brow furrow in concentration.  “Yeah.  Something with marshmallows in it.”

David leaned closer, partially bridging the gap of space between the two.  “Doesn’t your dad cook breakfast in the morning?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But…?”

A shrug.  “Not lately?”

“Take a look at your dad.  He’s reading the paper, right?”

Clay concentrated.  “He is…wait, his eyes are closed!”  A moment passed.  “Oh, my God, he’s snoring!  Dad snores, I guess?”

“How about your mom?  She’s looking at her phone, right?”

“Yeah.  Sometimes I look, when I’m getting coffee.”

“Stuff for work, right?”

Clay nodded.  Then he frowned.  “What?” David asked.

“Her phone.  She’s on Wikipedia.  She _hates_ Wikipedia.  Thinks we need a _real_ online encyclopedia for information…I can’t…I can’t tell what she’s looking up.  But…the pictures are wrong.  It’s not for work.”

“What do you think it might be?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“Okay.” David leaned back in his chair.  “And Justin…he’s eating cereal…”

“Quietly.  Wait.” Clay opened his eyes.  “Oh, shit.”

“See?  You’re having bad dreams, and everyone else is awake most of the night.  You don’t remember them being up with you, do you?”

Clay shook his head.  “No.  I don’t…I don’t remember anything.”  The boy fell quiet.  “But I do remember the dreams.”

“Okay.  What’s got you so afraid, Clay?  What is it that’s keeping you up at night?”

Teeth bit a worried lip.  A shiver ran up his client’s back.  “I can…I can hear him,” Clay said in a very small voice.  “That guy…Seth.  It’s like…I close my eyes, and I’m in that room.”

“Where you were kept?”

Clay nodded.  “It was _so_ hot.  I…passed out, almost?  It felt like I was cooking in my own skin.”

David picked up his tablet again.  “Can you describe it?  The room?”

Another nod.  “It was small.  Dark.  _Really_ dark.  Wooden, but nothing I could break out of.”

“Windows?”

“No.  They were boarded up.  I couldn’t pry the plywood off.  I tried.  There’s noises outside.”

David continued typing.  “Describe them.”

“Glass shattering.  Growls.”  Another shiver crawled up the teenager’s back.  “There were dogs.”

“Dogs?”

More nods.  “Like, mean, vicious attack dogs.  I didn’t know that at first.  That came later.”

The typing continued.  “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, what are you like in this room?”

Clay thought about that a moment.  “Hot. Angry. Scared. Confused. Helpless. Afraid.”

“Okay, afraid.”  David stopped typing at looked up at his client.  “Now, think back. Imagine Seth is coming in the room.”

Rapid breathing filled the room. Clay shivered violently. “Oh, _fuck._ ”

“Tell me," David said. "What's going on in there?”

“He’s nuts.  He tells me Justin owes him money, and now he’s going to use me to get it back.”

“Do you ask how much?”

Clay nodded.  “I did.  When he…when he told me, I _knew_ I was fucked.  We don’t have that much money!”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Yeah.  Later.”  Clay swallowed.  “I…I need water.  There isn’t any.”

“You didn’t get water in this room?”

“Not…not at first.  Then only a little.  I had to…ration it, I guess?”  Clay’s brows furrowed.  “I didn’t get to eat much either.  Couple of tiny sandwiches.”

David pressed on.  “So here you are, trapped in a dark, overheated room.  No lights?”

“No.”

“No lights, very little water and food, and it’s hot.”

“ _Excruciatingly_ hot.”  Clay grimaced.  “And he took my shoes.”

That point made the therapist sit up and take notice.  “Your shoes?”

Clay nodded again.  “I didn’t get why until later.  I mean, he’d told me there was crap on the floor that could hurt me.  I had guessed I was in some kind of…drug house?  Meth lab?  One of those.  But when I tried to run, the first time, I saw what he meant.”

“What did he do?”

“The glass…there was _so much_ of it, everywhere!  I could barely get past the door to that…that _prison_!”

Recognition hit.  “Your feet….”

Clay nodded.  “That came later.  But…yeah.  It was so I couldn’t run away.  But I wanted to, though.  So much.”

“Okay, Clay.  I want you to take a deep breath. You're shaking.”

The boy complied.  He continued to shake like a leaf.  “Every time I close my eyes, I’m in that room.  It wasn’t even the worst part, but it’s where I end up when I try to sleep.”  Clay paused.  “Did…did they say what I’m screaming, when I’m asleep?”

David hesitated.  He preferred his clients figure out things for themselves.  “You keep fighting someone off.   Your family says you start screaming to be let go, and when they try to wake you up, you start trying to hit them and scream to be let go.”

Clay swallowed thickly.  “Fuck me.”

“Do you know why you would be screaming that?  Did someone lay a hand on you?”

“Well, I was beat to shit when I woke up in that hellhole.  That Seth, he hit me a few times.  But…”  Clay’s hands tossed up in defeat.  “It’s…the answer, it’s _right there_ , but I can’t see it.”  A tear rolled down a lightly freckled cheek.  “My dad, he likes to run his hands through my hair, sometimes.  Justin’s too.  It’s…it’s a thing he does, you know?”

“A sign of affection.  Like a hug.”

Clay nodded.  “Yeah.  I love it.  It’s like, a man-hug.  Not like Justin, who would actually hug anything that walks.  Total jock thing, I guess.  But now, when Dad does it, I’m back in front of that house, on my knees, listening to that asshole hissing in my ear and feeling his fingers grab and pull my hair.  Telling me he’s going to kill me as soon as he’s paid…and how he’s going to make Justin watch…”  The tears fell harder.  “I don’t think that’s why I’m screaming, but…it scares me.  Something I really like, a thing between me and my dad…and now, all I see and hear is a crazy psychopath who admitted he planned to kill me…”

David finished typing.  “It sounds to me like maybe you should talk about this with your family.  Let them know what you’re seeing and experiencing.  Clay, you’re trying to keep everything bottled in.”  At the look on his client’s face, he continued. “I know you’ve told them a little, but don’t you think they should know about the rest?  About the room, and Seth?”

Slowly, Clay nodded.

“When you leave here today, I want you to remember something.”  Once he had his client’s attention, he pressed on.  “Clay, people want to _help_ you.  You need to let them. Otherwise, this thing will eat you alive.  You understand?”

Another nod.

“Tell me you understand.”

Clay’s voice broke.  “I…I understand.”

“Okay.  We’ll see you next week, all right?

The boy stood up and, with a small wave, left the room.  David sighed.  His heart broke for this kid.  He then reached for his recorder.  “Patient presents with signs of post-traumatic stress disorder stemming from being kidnapped and held against his will for a period of two days.  Patient’s family states that…”


	34. Chapter 34

**December 11**

“Clay, are you all right?”

The look on his best friend’s face was scaring the bejesus out of Tony.  He had suggested that Clay get out of the house for the afternoon and do a little Christmas shopping, to which the Jensen parents had readily agreed.  Over the last week Clay had stuck close to home, and Tony could see the signs of brooding lingering in Clay’s face.

They had decided to go through the kitsch stores, challenging each other to come up with the best finds for small Christmas presents.  Tony had found a hand-blown glass ornament shaped like boxing gloves, and thought it would be perfect for Caleb.  Clay was carrying a small lap easel he’d found in an art shop, along with a cool print of a phoenix rising from ashes during a sunset.  _“Justin will love this,”_ he’d said, that rare Jensen smile peeking out from the edges.  _“He’s been after some artwork for his side of the room.”_

Lunch had been an interesting affair.  The kitsch stores were grouped together in a large plaza, with one long rectangular building serving as a giant mecca for small food vendors.  The pair had piled their green plastic trays with smoked sausage, barbeque ribs, slices of pizza made to order, pulled pork sandwiches, antipasto salads, pasta dishes, and huge funnel cakes for dessert topped with strawberries and whipped cream.

_“I think I’m actually going to explode,”_ Clay had said.  _“Seriously.  This is like,_ the _place to take Justin for his birthday.”_

_“He still eats like Whole Foods is going out of business, huh?”_

_“Yeah.  Not as much now, but…”_

Just then an ear-splitting _crash_ sounded through the building.  Tony stood up to see what had happened.  _“Looks like that German place lost a cart of…”_ When he saw Clay, however, he stopped cold.

Clay was staring into space.  His posture was rigid, as though he were carved out of stone.  Slowly, the boy curled into himself.  What concerned Tony most was the look in Clay’s eyes.  They were filled with pure, unadulterated terror.

“Clay?  Clay, are you all right?”

His friend didn’t move.  It was as though Clay’s whole world had just… _stopped._   Tony reached over to tap him on the shoulder, and he could feel the boy shaking like a fresh Jello mold.  “Come on, Clay, look at me,” the Latino kid coaxed.  “It’s okay.  It’s just glass.  Be a bitch to pick up, but…”

“There…there’s so _much_ of it.”  Clay’s voice was nearly a whisper.  “How the fuck am I going to get across?”

“Wait…what?”

“I…I can’t.  There’s no way…”  A tear rolled down a freckled cheek, and then another.  “Fuck, my feet…”

Tony sat down next to where Clay was stuck, trapped in some kind of bad dream.  All of a sudden, realization hit.  “Clay, it’s all right.  You’re not there.  Do you hear me?  _You’re not there._ You’re safe.  Just breathe…that’s it, just breathe…”

It took several minutes (and more than a few strange looks from onlookers), but Clay finally sat up.  “What happened?” he asked.  “Why are those people over there looking at me like that?”

“Clay, we’re gonna pack this up and go,” Tony said, pointing at their untouched food.  “I think we need to get out of here, get some air.” 

“Okay,” his friend said, reaching for the take-out boxes someone had handed them.  “That’s a good idea.  I’m…I’m not feeling well, all of a sudden…”

* * *

 

**December 17th**

“Thanks _so_ much for the help, guys,” Jessica said, wiping her forehead with her shirt sleeve.  Part of her Christmas present from her parents had been a new bedroom set, and she had enlisted the help of Clay, Justin, Zach, Alex and Sheri to get it into the house and put it together.  “Dad’s had to pull some longer hours lately, and Mom…”

“I’m just not as good at hauling furniture as I used to be,” Mrs. Davis said.  “And I couldn’t pass up a steal on Craigslist, so…”

Jessica beamed.  “I always wanted a sleigh bed.  And it’s bigger than the old one, I think.”

“It is,” Alex said.  “The thing on the new comforter said queen.”

“I love the style,” Sheri said.  “Those quilts are gorgeous!”

The little group was sitting on the back patio, helping themselves to a giant plate of cookies.  Sandwiches had already been devoured by the group an hour before.  Jess had noticed that Clay had been nibbling on his, taking bites but not really eating it.  She found it a bit odd – sandwiches were usually a go-to food for their group – but once the cookies had come out Clay seemed like himself again.

“I’m just glad that’s over,” Justin said, the smile on his face infectious.  “I mean, that was a _beast_ getting up those stairs!”

“Tell me about it,” Zach said.  He winced a little.  “We’re gonna feel this at practice on Tuesday, that’s for sure…”

Just then the sound of a dog barking interrupted the conversation.  It was a deep, low, bass sound; the kind of bark that fit a large dog.

“What the hell?” Alex exclaimed.  “You got Cujo living next door or what?!”

“Oh, that’s Roxie, the Nelson’s dog,” Jessica explained.  “She’s a St. Bernard.  Giant baby, is more like…”

“Clay, what the hell are you doing?” Justin said, catching everyone’s attention.  Clay was standing on the Davis’s patio table, his hands behind his back.  His eyes told Jessica that though they could see him as plain as day, his mind was somewhere else.

“Roxie!  Shut up!” she yelled.  “Clay, you all right?”

The sound of heavy breathing was her only reply. 

“Hey, Clay,” Justin said, motioning everyone else to slowly back away from the table.  “Clay, it’s okay.  The dog’s gone.  It can’t hurt you, okay?”

Nothing.  Then a tiny voice said, “It…it’s gone?”

“Yeah, Clay,” Alex said, in the same easy tone Justin had used.  “It’s gone.”

Clay’s breathing evened out a little.  Then he gingerly stepped off the table, keeping his hands firmly behind him.  He fell to his knees, and then shook his head. 

Zach leaned towards Alex.  “What the fuck just happened?” he said, careful not to raise his voice.

“I think he had an episode,” Alex explained.  The pair watched as Justin took Clay inside, his hand against his brother’s back and his tone calm and soothing.  Several sets of expectant eyes looked at the youngest of the group.  “Justin said Clay’s been having…I dunno, he called them ‘flashbacks’ or something…”

“Wait, like…like PTSD?” Sheri said.

“Yeah, like that.”  Alex shrugged.  “Guys, there were dogs at…at that place, where that asshole kept Clay.  And I can tell you, they did _not_ look friendly.”

“Do you think they… I dunno, attacked him or something?” Zach wondered.

Alex shrugged.  “Only Clay can tell us for sure.  I know there weren’t any bite marks on him when we got him back, but…”

Sheri sighed.  Her face was wet.  “Poor guy.  What can we do?”

“Be there for him,” Jessica said, her voice more confident than she felt. 

“Exactly,” Alex concurred.  “My therapist says stuff like that, it just takes time.  And other stuff, but mostly time.”

A silent accord had been reached.

* * *

 

**December 20th**

The lights were hung, the special decorations were scattered throughout the house, and _most_ of the presents were wrapped and sitting under the tree. (Justin was still procrastinating, but…)  Matt had put the finishing touches on his special batch of white chocolate covered popcorn, and Clay was busy setting up the big screen in the den for a Christmas movie marathon.

“So what’s on the menu, son?” the elder Jensen asked.

“ _National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation_ , _Home Alone_ , _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ …”

“The cartoon or the live action one?”

“The cartoon.  Justin insisted.  Said it was something he used to watch as a kid.”  A small smile crept over his first child’s face, and Matt returned the gesture.  Secretly, he knew Clay loved the old animation version as well.  That, and the Peanuts special, had been his favorites as a child.

“Sounds like we’re all set.”  The two bowls of popcorn were sat on the coffee table, and soon all four of the Jensens were busy laughing at the antics of Clark Griswold.

“Dude, who would _put_ that many lights on their house?” Justin asked as they watched the hapless main character fail at creating a spectacular light show.  “I mean, come on…”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lainie said, a small smirk creeping across her face.  “Ask Matt about that sometime.”

“No way.”  Justin goggled.  “Really?”

“Yeah, Dad. Really?” Clay was also intrigued.

“It’s true.  I wanted to have the brightest house on the block the first Christmas we lived here.  Spent all day putting up every light I could afford on the house.”  Matt shook his head.  “The bill the next month, on the other hand…”

“Wow.” A chuckle escaped Justin’s throat. 

Clay shook his head.  “Didn’t do that again, huh?”

“No, can’t say I have.  I mean, then we had Clay, and then…” Matt ruffled his first child’s hair, running his fingers through the strands as Clay sat on the floor just below him.  “Never could get him on the roof, so…”

“Please…let me go.” The request was so soft at first, and then it grew louder.  “Please, let go of me!  Let me go!  I…I don’t wanna die… please…”

Startled, Matt let go of his son’s hair.  “Clay?”

A tear rolled down his child’s cheek.  The sounds of Clay’s frantic breaths filled the room, drowning out the sounds of the film.  Then the sobs came, hard and violent.  Matt put his hand on Clay’s shoulder, and the boy shuddered.  “Clay, it’s okay.  You’re home.  You’re safe, and you’re home…do you hear me?”

A few deep gasps, and then Clay nodded. “I’m…I’m sorry,” he said.

“You had one of those flashback things, didn’t you?” Justin asked.  The look on his second child’s face told Matt volumes. 

Clay nodded again.  It was as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.  He took a deep breath, and the shaking lessened.  “That guy, Seth…he grabbed my hair, _so tight,_ while we had to wait…”

“While you were waiting for me to come?”

Another nod.  “It _hurt._   He…he kept telling me…”  A deft swipe of a tongue wet dry lips.  “He said he’d wait until Justin gave him his money, and then he’d…”  A sob stopped him.  “And now, every time someone touches my hair…”

“…you go back there,” Matt finished.  “Oh, Clay.  I had no idea…”

“It’s not your fault, Dad.  I mean, I love it when you do that.  Or…or I _did…_ ”

Lainie pulled her first child into a hug.  “Have you talked to David about this?”

Clay nodded.  “A few weeks ago.”

“You know, you don’t have to keep it all inside, son,” Matt said.

“Yeah,” Justin said.  “I mean, I know you’ve been having these things.  You have for a while now.”

“I…I have?”

Justin looked at his brother, puzzled.  Matt could feel the confusion rolling off his second child in waves.  “That time at Jess’s.  The dog barking?”

Clay stared blankly.  Then recollection dawned.  “Oh.”

“Plus, Tony told me about what happened when you went Christmas shopping…”

“What happened?” Lainie demanded.

Clay shook his head.  “I…I don’t remember…”

“A bunch of plates fell and broke.  Clay started saying something about trying to get out and about his feet…”

“Oh.  Oh, shit.”  Shame flooded the older boy’s face.  “I…I said that out loud?”

Justin shrugged.  “You’d have to ask Tony.  But he told me in private, and I haven’t said anything until now.”

“Fuck my life.  I’m a fucking mess.”

“No,” Matt said.  “You’re trying to work through these things.  We can help.  David can help.”

“You know our friends have your back,” Justin said.  “And me too.”

A watery half-smile graced Clay’s face.  “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”  Justin clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder.  “Let’s go get some Cokes.  And some of that cherry syrup stuff…”

“Grenadine,” Lainie said.  “Bring me one too?”

Matt sighed.  “Better make four of them.”  The boys headed to the kitchen.  He turned to his wife.  “We’ve got our work cut out for us, Lainie.”

“I know.  It’ll take time.  But we’ll figure this out.”  Lainie took her husband’s hand into her own.  “We have to, for our kids’ sake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be a little more sporadic due to me going back to work full-time, but rest assured I'm in this till the end. There's more to come, so stay tuned!


	35. Chapter 35

**January 19th**

“The fucking hell is _she_ doing here?”

Clay’s head swiveled.  He had just finished a therapy session, and, after picking Justin up from basketball practice, was putting their new Prius into the driveway.  Justin’s gaze was firmly fixed on the front porch, where the ragged figure of Amber Foley sat.  From her demeanor, it was as though she thought she owned the place.

“Justin…” Clay said warningly.  While Amber wasn’t high on his list of people he particularly cared for, he still didn’t want to have the cops called on them.  Not only ninety days after Justin’s probation had ended…

“I thought I made myself clear,” his brother half-shouted, storming towards the woman.  “Get the fuck out.”

“You’re my _son_ ,” Amber said petulantly.  She _tsk_ ed a little.  “It’s your birthday.  I thought we could…”

“First off, my birthday is in February.  Second, and I won’t say it again, _get the fuck out.”_ Clay winced as Justin bit off the last four words of his sentence. 

Amber reached out towards Justin’s face, as though she wanted to touch it. A strange look was on her face – one Clay thought might be… _lustful?_

Justin deftly caught her by the wrist.  “No,” he said.  “We’re not doing _that_ again.”  He half-pushed, half-tossed the offending limb away from him.  “I don’t even care what you want.  Now, leave.  I told you, I never want to see you again.” 

“You ungrateful little fuck,” she spat, her thin face showing hurt.  “Talking to your mother like that!”

“You’re not my mother, Amber.”

“Fuck those papers.”  Her gaze bore down at Clay, who had been attempting to quietly sneak inside.  “And fuck you assholes for taking _my_ child from me!”

Clay spun on his heel, halfway up the porch steps.  “No, _fuck you_ , Ms. Foley.  Do you know where Justin was, most of last year?”  At the woman’s blank stare, he answered, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.  You know where I found him?  Sitting on a street corner in Oakland, tired, dirty, begging for change.”  Clay looked at Justin, who looked a little shamefaced beneath his anger.  “You know the first thing he said to me, when we brought him back?  _“I can’t go home.  They won’t take me there.  Fuck, they’ll kill me.”_   Bright blue eyes bore down into faded, tired green ones.  “Your own son, and he _knows_ he can’t go home.”

“That…that wasn’t me!  That was Seth!  I couldn’t.  I just…”

“I _begged_ you to leave him.  But no, he had cash.  And dope.  I wanted him out _before_ it got that far, and you just brushed me off, made excuses.”  Justin was fuming.  Clay could tell he was working _very_ hard to tamp down his anger.  “My whole fucking life.”

Just then the sounds of a door shutting and footsteps filled the afternoon air.  “Clay? Justin?  What’s going…” She stopped at the foot of the porch stairs. “Amber?  What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting my son back!” she screamed, a bony arm shoving Lainie where she stood.  “You people had _no right_ to steal him from me!”

“We had _every_ right, Amber,” Lainie said firmly, setting down her briefcase.  “It’s too bad you couldn’t figure that out before it got this far, but now it is what it is.”

“Bullshit!  Justin Andrew Foley, get your shit.  You’re leaving.  _Now._ ”  The fire in the woman’s eyes spoke volumes.

“I’m not going _anywhere!_ ”  Rage smoldered behind Justin’s dark scowl.  “I told you.  I _told_ you.”

“The fuck did you think you were _telling_ me?  _Me!_ ” Amber scoffed.  She stood between her biological son and his adoptive brother.   Glaring at Clay, she hissed, “I wish that asshole _had_ killed you, you little bastard.  Would serve them right, to have to lose a child.”

It was as though Clay had been punched.  “You…you knew?  What he was going to do?  To…to me?”

“Oh, please.” Amber rolled her eyes.  “Justin told me, soon as you disappeared.  I mean, it was kind of a big deal to him and all.  Came crawling to where I was staying, wanted to know if I knew where that fucker took you.”  Fat crocodile tears started to fall down her cheeks.  “Told me, his own _mother_ , that I was some washed up junkie whore…”

“You _are_ a fucking junkie,” Justin spat, his voice low. “At least _that_ part is true.” Clay didn’t know whether to be appalled or to chuckle.

“…and that I never had a son.  That I didn’t care.”  Amber turned and looked at Justin.  “I _did_ care.”

“When, Mom?  When?  When Seth threw me out?  When I had nowhere to go?  When I had to figure out how we were going to eat, or pay rent, at eight years old?  When I stood in front of whatever fucked-up asshole you claimed to be in love with who was trying to beat you senseless?”  Justin grew more and more animated as he spoke:  arms flailing, pacing, head tilting at angles.  His voice rose and fell as if it were a roller coaster on a collision course. 

“When that rich asshole kept making eyes at you, you fucking idiot!”

Silence reigned on the front lawn.  “What rich asshole?” Justin ventured.

“Rickie.  You liked him.  And it took me a while, but I figured him out.  Oh, he liked me well enough, but it was _you_ he was _really_ interested in.  We could have lived _so_ well, if I’d just let him…”

Clay wanted to puke.  “Amber, that’s enough,” Lainie said sharply.

“And what the fuck do you know about it, bitch?” the angry woman snapped.  “I bet anything he’s told you how fucking _horrible_ I was to him, growing up, huh?  Anything to move up in the world…pretend he's better than the rest of us...”

Justin opened his mouth to speak, but Lainie’s outstretched stopped him.  “Clay, call the police.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Clay, call the cops,” Justin agreed.  “When can we file the restraining order, Lainie?  Tomorrow?”

“That depends.” She stared at Amber, who looked indifferent to the current change of events.  “Either you leave here, now, and agree to follow the instructions Justin told you that night, or we _will_ file that paperwork by the end of business.  And it _will_ be fast-tracked.  Decide _now._ ”

The crocodile tears continued.  “You…you can’t do this to me. I’m your _mother._ You…you just can’t!”

Justin _tsk_ ed.  “You did it to yourself.”

“But…but I’ll starve!  Carl, he…he…”

Clay shook his head.  He knew where this was going.  “Left you, huh?”

Through big, noisy sobs, she nodded her head. 

Lainie softened a little.  “I’m sorry, Amber.”

“Fuck you!  I don’t need your pity!”  She wiped her nose on her thin coat sleeve.  Her eyes turned imploringly to Justin.  “I…I just need some money…just a little…” She sniffled, then looked at Clay.  “Got plenty now, ‘cause of him…”

“Oh, fuck you!”  Justin pushed past the tiny woman and started up the porch stairs, pulling out his phone.  “Yeah, hello?  I’d like to file a complaint.  There’s a crazy woman here screaming shit at us on the front lawn.” He pulled the phone away a moment and looked at Lainie.  “That’s trespassing, right?”

“I believe it is.”  A small smile crossed his mother’s face, and it actually scared Clay a little.  “Also, I’m sure I heard some solicitation in there…”

“You got all that?  Uh-huh.  Thanks.”  Justin hung up and glared at Amber, who stood in shock.  “Seventeen years you used me, for cash or support or to enable your toked-up ass.  Not. Anymore.”  The boy took a deep breath, and then another.  “You just said you wished Clay was dead.  That you wished Seth had killed him.  Did you convince him to…?”

Now Lainie took a step closer to the quietly panicking woman.  “Is this true?  Did you almost get my son killed?”

“Fuck, no!  I wasn’t anywhere _near_ that asshole, not after that ungrateful brat skipped out again!”  Amber’s expression mirrored a deer caught in headlights.  “But when I heard…I hoped he did.  People like _you_ …” she spat, glaring at Lainie, “...should learn what it’s like to lose something.  Something irreplaceable.”

“I hope you burn in hell,” Clay said, shocking his mother and brother both.  “Fuck you.  I hope you die in jail.”

Just then, a black-and-white car pulled up.  Clay recognized one of the officers as Deputy Evans, who had been there the night of his rescue.  “Someone called about a disturbance?” he said.

“Yes.  This woman is trespassing,” Lainie said, gesturing towards Amber.  “She’s also been harassing my son, even after he _explicitly_ told her to stay away from him.”

“And which son is that, ma’am?”

Justin raised a hand.  “Me, sir.  It’s a long story…”

“I know most of that story, son.  Small town, this one.”

“Yeah.”  Justin sighed.  “I know.”

“Officer, Justin is _my_ son!  This bitch and her husband stole him from me!”  Amber pulled herself up into a look of righteous indignation. 

“That true?”  Deputy Evans barely looked up.

“Her parental rights were involuntarily terminated earlier this year.  We have Justin’s adoption papers and birth certificate in the house, and the paperwork was filed in family court last August on all points of the case.”  Lainie handed the deputy her business card.  “We are, of course, available if you have any further questions.  We’ll be filing a restraining order against her in the morning.”

“But…but…”

“ _But_ nothing, Ms. Foley.  The complaint seems sound.  Plus, we’ve had noise complaints from the neighbors, so there’s that.  And I’m sure there’s a warrant or two outstanding somewhere.”  The other deputy took hold of Amber, forcing her hands behind her back.  “Right now, you’re under arrest.”

Amber screamed and shouted as she was placed forcibly in the back of the car.  “You little fucker!  How could you?”

As the car pulled away, Clay swore he heard Justin mumble, “No, Mom.  How could _you_?”


	36. Chapter 36

**January 19th**

_“I wish he_ had _killed you, you little bastard.”_

The words kept running through Clay’s head like a bad music track on repeat.  The look on Amber’s face, the bite in her voice – _what the hell did I do to her?_ he thought.  _What did I do to deserve being kidnapped, tortured, and terrified out of my mind?_

He remembered his mother’s words, after dinner:  _Clay, she’s upset.  She’s angry and frustrated, and you’re a convenient scapegoat, unfortunately._ The boy could still feel his mother’s arms holding him, trying her best to pull him out of the dark mood he’d been stuck in since the encounter.  The scent of roses and rainwater lingered on his shirt.  _She’s just…upset._

Clay wondered how his mother could be so understanding.  Amber had basically wished his death just to spite his parents.  And for what?  Because they gave Justin a safe, loving home?  Because she no longer had her son to abuse and use as a piece of barter or an object?

Curling up on the patio chair, Clay shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.  Behind him, the door clattered shut.  Footsteps padded across the raised wooden platform, and the figure of his adoptive brother fell gracelessly into the chair next to him.  He heard Justin heave a giant sigh, and saw Justin’s head fall into his hands.  “Penny for your thoughts,” Clay said, startling the younger boy.

“Shit, Jensen.  The hell you doing out here?”

Clay’s mouth twitched, and his shoulders shrugged.  “I didn’t want to be inside.  Why are you out here?”

“Stargazing.”  The look on Justin’s face said he was anything but.

“Bullshit.”

“Says you.”  Justin leaned back a little.  “Look there.  The knight.”

“Orion.”

“Whatever.”  Justin sighed.  “Fuck.”

“Like I said…”

“Clay, my thoughts are fucked up right now.”  Green eyes stared hard into blue ones.  “I mean, _seriously_ fucked up.”  At his brother’s puzzled look, he said, “Amber.”

“Oh.”  Clay had been so focused on what she’d said to him that he’d forgotten the rest of that horrible conversation.  “You mean, about…?”

Justin nodded.  “I remember that guy…Rickie, I mean.  I _did_ like him.  I think he was, like, the _only_ boyfriend she had that was actually _nice_ to me.”

Clay shuddered a little.  “Did he…I mean?”

“No.” Justin’s answer was so forceful Clay knew he was telling the truth.  “I always believed she was, I dunno, jealous, I guess.  She was right – if we’d stayed, I’d have never worried about a thing.  Like, _ever._ ”

“Really?”

Brown curls nodded slowly.  “I think the guy was actually richer than the Walkers.  Bryce would have been poor in comparison.”

“Still…would she have…?”

An uneasy silence fell between the boys.  After a long while, Justin said, “No.  I never could figure out why we left in the middle of the night, but I think the minute she figured it out we were gone.”  He bit his lip.  “If she’s right…that has to be like, the only other thing she ever did for me in my life.”

“What was the other one?”

More lip biting.

“Come on, Justin.  It’s obvious this is bugging the fuck out of you.  What was it?”

There was a pause.  “Remember…remember when you woke me out of that nightmare, the first week after I got out of juvie?”

“Yeah.  You tried to tell me you were dreaming about sex.  I know you lied.”

“It was Seth.”  Justin took a breath.  It looked to Clay as though it hurt.  “Just before he threw me out, he pinned me against the wall in our apartment.”

“Okay…”

“By the neck.”

Clay’s face filled with understanding.  “Aha.”

Justin nodded again.  “She told him that the neighbor would call the cops if he kept choking me.  It was the only reason he let go.”  Moonlight danced across a diamond-shaped face, and Clay could see the shimmer of tear tracks running down the length of it. 

“Shit.”  Clay swallowed thickly.  “He…he did that to me, too.”

Justin looked up at him.  Clay continued.  “I was yelling to be let out of that room.  He stormed in and pinned me to the wall with his elbow.  It…it felt like he was crushing my windpipe.”  The older boy shivered.  “I…I think that’s when I kind of knew…he planned on…”

“…killing you?”

Clay nodded.  “Plus, I’d seen his face.  There was no reason to keep me alive.  Not one.”

“Shit.”  Both boys sat in the moonlight, silently contemplating that thought.  So much could have gone wrong that night.  Clay was thankful nothing _had._   “Do you…do you think your mom…”

“My birth mother.  Fuck her.”  Justin scowled.  “I did go to her place, that night.  I…I was desperate.  We couldn’t come up with all the money.  And…and we _tried,_ Clay, I swear we did!  Zach and Tony even sold their _cars_ , for Christ’s sake!  And we _still_ couldn’t get enough!”  He heaved a few deep breaths.  “So I went to see her.  I…I thought, maybe, just _maybe,_ she knew where he’d moved his operation.  _Maybe_ she had an idea where he might have been keeping you.”  A hand angrily wiped at an eye.  “I…we were desperate, Clay.  Your parents.  Me.”  Justin bit his lip again.  “I begged her to tell me, _anything_ she knew that might help.  And all she wanted was to be _paid_.”

“Shit.”  Another shiver thrilled Clay’s spine.  “Seth was the same way.  All he talked about was how you were gonna pay him.  And then…”

“He was gonna kill you.”

“He was gonna kill _both_ of us.”  Clay swallowed thickly.  “I mean, he could have just done it that first night.  I was hurt, confused, sick…I had a headache so bad I wanted to cut my head _off._   But he didn’t.”  One deep breath followed another.  “It was, like…he _enjoyed_ seeing me hurt.  He got off on humiliating me, or…or making me feel helpless…”

“Yeah.” Justin reached over and grabbed Clay’s hand, twisting the limb into an odd grasp.  “He likes control.”

“When he drugged me…I never felt so helpless in my life.”  Clay’s voice grew smaller.  “I…I could barely _move._ My thoughts were all…thick, and fuzzy.  I couldn’t string together three words without a massive effort on my part.”

“I saw.  That last video.  I could tell you were on something.  I just didn’t know what.”

“I _still_ don’t know.  And I’m not sure I want to.”  Clay wiped away a tear of his own.  “When your…when Amber said that to me, earlier, I was stunned.  I mean, why would she want _me_ dead?”

“For spite,” a voice said, causing both boys to turn in their chairs.  Clay saw both his parents coming through the patio door with resigned, somber looks on their faces.  His mother stood next to him.  “Like I said, Amber’s angry.  She’s…”

“A fucking bitch,” Justin supplied.

“…without purpose,” Matt said, standing near Justin.  “Lainie told me what happened.  You’re sure you want to go through with this?”

“I’m sure.  The minute I thought she had something to do with what happened with Seth, I was sure.”

“But she didn’t.”  Matt’s face was full of concern.  “Although there was a point even _I_ thought she might.”

“Really?” The statement took Clay by surprise.

“Really.  She’s fairly adept at using a certain kind of charm to get things.  I think it’s been less…successful, as of late, though.”  Matt sighed.  “She’ll find in a few years that kind of charm is going to not be successful at all.”

“It certainly didn’t work today,” Lainie said.  “I was very proud of you boys.  No matter your choices or feelings about everything that's happened, you stuck your ground.”  She reached out and ruffled Justin’s hair.  She almost did the same with Clay, and then shifted her hand to his shoulder, where she clasped it for a moment.  “And you did so with a decent amount of civility.”

“So we can file a restraining order?” Justin asked.  “I mean, that wasn’t…”

“No, I have the paperwork.  Frankly, I was expecting something like this to happen.  Justin…” Lainie turned her attention onto her second son.  “Matt and I were…worried, I guess, that Amber might try to use you for money.  It’s not something we wanted to think about, but…”

“…but she did it anyway.  She’s good at that.”  Justin sighed.  “The sad thing is, I don’t even want to know right now.  I just want her to go away.”

“Oh, she will.  Her charges are pretty minor, but she had some outstanding warrants, and even pennies add up eventually. I’m asking that the order take place once Amber gets out of jail.  And it will cover the whole family, not just you.  She won’t have a foothold to regain access again.”

Both boys heaved a sigh of relief.  “Thanks, Lainie.”

“How much of our conversation did you hear?” Clay wondered. 

“Enough,” Lainie said. 

Matt nodded.  “Unfortunately, it’ll take time to work through all this.  I wish I could say there’s an easier answer, but…”  He cleared his throat.  “Plus, you don’t know how scared we were either, boys.  One child missing and endangered, another drowning in guilt and shame to the point that _leaving_ seemed like the only option…you guys don’t make it easy, do you?”  A small smile crossed the Jensen patriarch’s face, and it put his children a little more at ease.

“And that plan of yours, Justin…I meant what I said.  _Neither_ of you are dispensable.”  Lainie crouched down between her sons’ chairs.  “Both of you are our sons.  No matter how you got here, you are _both_ our boys.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Yes, Lainie.”

“Good.”  She smiled, wiped a tear from her face, and shivered from the cold.  “Now, I don't know about your dad, but I’m going in.  Make sure you lock the door before you head upstairs, huh?”

Clay nodded.  “Okay.  I’m gonna stay out here a little longer, though.”  He smiled a little.  “Gotta show Justin all the winter constellations.”

“Hey, I found the knight.”

“Orion.  Did you know that his belt points to the North Star?”

“Really?”

Clay scooted his chair closer to Justin’s.  He pointed upward towards the heavens.  “See, there’s the belt…and if you go to the right, there’s the Big Dipper…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part about Amber's old boyfriend Rickie comes from Bitterblue33's fic "Some Baptize in Water, Others in Flames." Apparently, he...well, he had tastes, and Amber actually did the right thing by Justin for once in his life.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Monty is still as unenlightened as he was in his last appearance. I'm afraid he's just a sexist, racist, homophobic asshole and always will be. Forgive him. He's too stupid to change.

**February 27**

Monty was pissed.  It was a permanent state, now.  There were rumors that that faggot Tyler Down was starting to come back around to the real world, and the thought of him spilling his guts about what went down last spring had the athlete on edge.  Worse, there was no baseball this year to help alleviate the stress.  After Coach Rick “stepped down,” ( _fired_ was the real term, but no one dared say it aloud), the spot had gone unfilled.  It meant that there would be no scouts, no scholarship offers – no chance of escaping this pissant town and the wrath of his father.  Monty’s grades were abysmal, and he knew it.

The thought of being trapped in this shithole town, forced to endure his old man until the end of days…it was not a future Monty wanted to dwell upon much.  Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be an answer in sight.

There were a few upsides.  He still had a few of his boys.  There were still parties and favors to be had, although he did notice most girls kept him at an arm’s length.  Well, fuck them.  Somehow, he’d get out of this shitty town and start living his life.

After a miserable third period, where Mrs. Santos had told him _yet again_ that he needed to make up that Modern History project or else lose two hundred points towards his final grade (which was barely holding on at a C-), Monty was at a boiling point. 

“Hey, Monty,” a friendly voice said.  Monty turned to scowl at Keith, who despite his antics on and off the field was something of a solid B student.  “I heard about Mrs. Santos.  That fucking sucks.”

“Fucking thing was due three weeks ago,” the older boy spat. “And I ain’t got time to work on anything, not with my old man bitching about me needing to find a “real job”…”

“Since when do you have to work?”

Monty huffed.  “Since my chances at college went down the shitter.  I _needed_ that baseball scholarship, Keith.  You don’t even _know_ how much I needed it.”  The pair reached a corner, sided at all angles with lockers.  Third period meant the start of first lunch, and students were milling about, casually putting books away or grabbing sweatshirts to go out.  “Now I’m stuck in this hellhole.”  Narrow eyes caught a familiar figure standing at his locker, carefully putting things away.  “And it’s because of _that_ asshole.”

Keith’s eyes traveled down Monty’s gaze.  “Jensen?”

“Jensen.”  Even the name made Monty’s blood boil.  If the kid had just taken a hint…if he hadn’t been so _fucking determined_ to ruin such a _good_ thing…   He stared on, while the object of his ire remained oblivious.  “I just wish there was some way I could fuck with him, as bad as he fucked with me.”

“Dude, we can get him alone, beat the shit out of him…”

Monty shook his head.  “No, you fucking idiot!” It amazed him how smart Keith could be at books but how fucking _stupid_ he could be with common sense stuff.  “I’m eighteen, asshole.  I lay a finger on him, I go down for assault.  And since his mom’s a lawyer, she’d probably throw in more charges.”

“Oh.” Keith scratched his goatee, which Monty thought looked gay on him.  “Fuck.”

“Yeah.  Fuck.  So anything we do, we can’t make it look like we were, y’know, _trying_ to hurt him.  Even if that _is_ what I wanna do right now.”

The two boys stood quietly for a moment, watching as that asshole Jensen met up with his faggot cripple friend Standall and that traitor Dempsey.  Monty shook his head.  What a bunch of fucking _losers._

“Y’know, Monty,” Keith said finally.  “I heard Jensen’s still fucked up from when that drug dealer kidnapped him.  Foley’s mom’s ex, or something.”

Monty spared his enemy one last look before the other boy turned down the corner.  “He doesn’t looked fucked up to me.”

“Mental shit, you dumb fuck.  Y’know, head case?”

A pair of eyes widened.  They began to sparkle with glee.  “Really?”

“Apparently.  Jamie said he freaked out a few days ago…someone touched his head on accident, and he started crying and talking like he was somewhere else.”

A plan began to form in Monty’s head.  “That’s great.  Now we just need to get Jamie and Thomas…oh yeah, that could work.  ‘Cause once we…yeah.  Can’t accuse a guy for trying to _help_ , right?”

Keith’s pointed face crinkled a little.  “I don’t think so…”

Monty pulled out his phone.  “We gotta meet.  This afternoon.  I can spin some bullshit for my dad, some story…4:00, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

**February 28th**

Clay could barely contain the smile on his face.  He’d aced his French midterm.  Sheri had _finally_ accepted a date with him – a _real_ one, with a suit and reservations.  The little Italian place off of Santa Anita Crossing was getting harder to get into, but Clay had just scored a table thanks to Pierre St. Clement, who worked nights as the host there.  _“Nice choice,”_ Pierre had said as he took the information from Clay during second period.  _“She’ll love it.”_

All in all, it was shaping up to be a _great_ day.  If he could have, he would have whistled. 

Reaching his locker, he saw a pale pink piece of paper sticking out through the vent of the door.  He plucked it out to see a rather interesting photograph of Sheri in what Clay could only describe as a sexy _Alien Killer Robots_ costume, done up as a female cybertronic version of the _Kitan_ class robot.  The photo put a little thrill up his spine.

 _I didn’t know Sheri was into cosplay._ Clay’s mind went places it really shouldn’t at eleven o’clock in the morning on a school day.  An idiot grin broke through the smile that had been pasted on his face all morning.  _I’ll have to break out my_ Sanbrae _class outfit…she’ll get a kick out of_ that _, no doubt!_

He tossed the photo and his books into his locker, ready to meet up with the gang at their now usual table.  Only Justin and Tony were absent, as they both had American Lit, and old Mrs. Saunders was notorious for sticking to a schedule that dictated a need for second lunch.  Still, Alex and the girls were good company, and things had been getting better between him and Zach.  While the pair had been friendly enough because of Justin and Alex, things had gotten better since “the Seth incident”, as they preferred to call it.  The ice wall Clay had erected because of Hannah had eroded, and it was kind of fun to call a real-live super jock a close friend. (Zach played _two_ sports, once upon a time, and was a very competent swimmer.  If Liberty High could have shelled out for a pool, he probably would have been captain of the swim team too.)

Just then something seized a hold of his hair.  It clung onto the short strands in a death grip.  “Hey, Jensen,” a voice cackled, low enough so only he could hear.  A hand gave him a firm slap against his shoulder.  “Haven’t chatted in a while.  Still sticking that nose of yours where it doesn’t belong?”

Clay froze.  He heard a voice, but couldn’t make out the words.  The world began to fade and spin before him, and suddenly he was back in that godforsaken _room_.  His breaths came in short bursts.  Sweat began to bead violently against his forehead.  Shadows moved along the splintered floorboards-- _no, no, I’m not there, I’m not_ there _!_ —and Clay could sense other bodies surrounding him. Instinctively, he tried to back away, but more hands along his shoulders and back stopped him.

 _Oh, fuck me!  Christ!_  The smaller boy thrashed a little, struggling to get out of the loose grip he was being held in.  “Let me go,” he said, strong enough to hear it.  “You hear me?  Let me fucking _go!_ ”

A hand patted him gently, careful to avoid the others that held him fast.  “Shut the fuck up, Jensen.  Or there _will_ be trouble.  Serves you right, fucking up someone else’s life.  Maybe we should finish what that junkie whore’s ex started, huh?”

Clay gulped.  It was getting harder to swallow.  _Fuck, it was hot!  Why was it so hot?_  He tried to run, but his limbs felt like lead.  It was getting harder to breathe.  “Fuck you,” he gasped out.  “I don’t…I don’t wanna die…not here…”

“Who the fuck said you were gonna die?  Not if I can help it.”  There was a cackle again, and others followed.  Something broke against the side of the wall…the sound shattered the air as the tinkle of glass breaking followed him…

“My feet…oh, _fuck you!”_ The words echoed off the damp boards of that sweltering hellhole.  The hands supporting him vanished, and an angry voice sounded off.

“The fuck is your problem, Jensen?  Can’t take a little shit?  Sure can dish it, when you want…”

Clay’s arms began to flail.  He fought back, viciously.  The boy struggled not to cry because of the stabbing pain in his feet.  He fell to the hard floor, feeling every splinter strike against him.

“Dude, what the _fuck?”_  This voice was new.  It wasn’t that horrible Seth hissing in his ear.  Clay could still feel the man’s hot, fetid breath against his cheek, brushing past his neck.  “Monty, the fuck did you _do_ to him?”

“Fucked if I know, Jamie!  Keith said he freaked out, but _this…_ ”  Clay shivered as he lay in place, waiting for the killing blow.  The hands had left his hair the minute he fell, and he expected a kick to the gut any second.  Then Clay heard footsteps scamper across hard industrial marble tile.  “Hey, asshole!  Come back here!”  The voices seemed far away as Clay lay in misery, boiling hot, frightened, and feeling violated again.  “Thomas, get his ass!  And those pictures!”

_“Help!  Someone help me, please!  He’s gonna kill me!  Please, help me!”_

It felt cooler.  The room was less stuffy.  “Shit, what the fuck now?” a voice said above him.  “Can’t have him screaming, Monty…”

Something solid was being forced into Clay’s mouth.  Strong hands grabbed his arms, his shirt, even the waistband of his jeans and hoisted him up.  The feeling of another hand fisting his hair in a death grip sent the boy back over the edge.  He could feel the drugs working their way into him, forced on him by that container of water Seth had made him drink…

“Shit, he’s heavy!  What the hell…”  Clay collapsed as his dead weight crashed to the floor again.

“Fuck, someone’s coming!”

“Leave him alone, you sons of bitches!”  Clay knew that voice.  Its owner had offered harbor during dark periods these last two years and had helped free him from that madman.  “You fucking hear me?!  Get the fuck away from him!”

Soon familiar hands were slowly picking him up, careful to touch him in short, easy motions.  “Clay?  Clay?  Clay, it’s okay, they’re gone, you’re safe now…” 

Thin arms enveloped him in a giant hug.  They smelled of lemon soap and sandalwood; the familiar scent of home.  His breaths flattened out and grew more even.  Clay felt his heart slow its frantic pace and it became a little easier to breathe.  “Come on,” a familiar voice said, the same one that shushed him after a particularly horrible nightmare.  “Let’s get you somewhere quieter, huh?”

“Fuckers,” the other voice said.  Clay knew it well.  Tony had his back.  So did his brother.  “They’re long gone now.”

“We know who it was?” Justin asked.

“That kid said it was Monty and his boys.  I've seen him around – artsy type, likes making videos.  I think Cyrus and his boys know ‘im.”  A second pair of hands helped Clay from the floor, these rough, calloused and smelling of engine oil.  It was a scent he associated with his best friend.  “Ramon’s got an off-period after lunch, we’ll head there.”

“Send a text.  All of our people.  Let them know where we are and where to meet.  Plus Cyrus.  If he or his boys know this kid with the video, we need to find him.”

“Yeah, and get him protection.  You know Monty’s gonna be lookin’ for the poor bastard.”

“Tony?” Clay said shakily.  “Justin?”

“Yeah, it’s us, Clay,” his brother said.  “Come on…that’s it.  Here.” A door swung open, slamming against a bare wall.  The hands deposited Clay into an open chair, and the boy heard the door squeak shut.  “Okay, if you’re feeling light-headed, put your head down a second.  Yup, that’s it, towards your knees…”

The door creaked open.  A flurry of voices rushed in, full of concern.  “Clay!” he heard Sheri’s rough, sultry voice exclaim.  “The hell happened to you?”

Clay shook his head.  “Later,” he said softly.  “I…I can’t…”

“We think Monty and his assholes set Clay off,” Tony supplied.

“You _think_?” Zach demanded.  As his vision cleared, he saw the tall kid pacing like a caged tiger.  Long fingers slicked through his short black hair.

The sound of Tony’s boots keeping time on the marble graced Clay’s ears.  “This kid bursts into Saunders’s class, shouts at Justin that his brother’s being attacked.  We could hear shouts through the door, but not enough to place the voice.”  An annoyed huff escaped his friend’s lungs.  “Bet your ass Foley and I ran like hell, but all we saw were varsity jackets.”

“Fuck me,” Alex said.  Clay could make out the bleach-blonde hair and could hear the tap of his cane. 

“He looked like one of Cyrus’s boys – the kid who got us, I mean,” Justin said.  Clay felt reassuring hands rubbing circles against his back.  Another pair had a death grip on his hands, but these were softer and smelled of jasmine.  It was the scent he associated with Sheri.

“Someone’s out looking for him, I hope?”

“I sent a mass text to Cyrus and to our other allies,” Justin said.  A phone buzzed, and the soothing circles stopped in order to answer it.  “Parker Travis, one of Scott Reed’s boys,” he said.  “Says they found the kid, and they’re bringing him up here to talk to us.”

“Okay.”  Someone tapped on a phone.  “Change of venue,” Alex said.  “We’re going to Clay and Justin’s place.  Tell Parker and his boys to bring the kid there.”  Alex’s bright eyes came into Clay’s field of vision.  “Hey, Clay.  We’re taking you home.  All of us.  And we’re gonna end this thing with Monty, once and for all.  I promise.”

Slowly, Clay blinked.  He looked up at the faces of his friends, all of them filed with love, concern and worry for him.  “Okay,” he said.  “Let’s go home.”

“And plan for war,” Justin added.  “This shit is _not_ gonna happen again.  To _any_ of us.”

Several heads bobbed in agreement.  Clay’s slowly joined them. 

The time for fear was over. 


	38. Chapter 38

**February 28th, 5pm**

Miles Christopher sat in the back seat of the car, quaking in his high-tops.  His glasses were polished to a near-flawless shine, but he could barely see out of them.  Dust-colored hands reached for them again, out of habit, when another patted him on the shoulder.

“Relax,” Dale Edenberg said, ruffling the sleeve of his varsity jacket against Miles’s maroon cardigan.  “I promise, no one in there is gonna hurt you.  Okay?”

Miles swallowed thickly.  A few hours before, he had been collecting some interesting shots for a film on student life at Liberty High.  He’d seen the group of jocks surrounding a smaller student, and then the proverbial shit hit the fan.  The smaller kid had spaced out, shouting and falling like dead weight to the floor.  Even the jocks had seemed surprised at the kid’s reaction.  Miles had kept recording once he saw it. Film was film, and everything could be edited later if need be.

It was only after the jocks stepped away from their victim that Miles realized who was on the floor.  Everyone at Liberty High knew the name Clay Jensen.  Everyone knew that he was one of the main reasons the athletics department had gotten a total overhaul.  Miles looked up from his phone screen and counted the assholes in light blue jackets standing around Jensen – there were four of them, and one was as recognizable as Washington on the dollar bill.

The young videographer was stunned.  For all of the administration’s assurances that they were taking a harsh stance on bullying in the school, Miles now had concrete proof that they were as lax now as they had been during the Baker scandal.  He kept filming.

 _“…Monty, what’d you do to him?”_ one of the jocks had asked, panicking at the sight of Jensen in the middle of what looked like a PTSD attack, in Miles’s opinion. 

“ _Fucked if I know, Jamie!  Keith said he freaked out, but this…”_

It was then that Miles had backed into a trash can.  The clatter echoed through the empty hallway.  Without another thought, the aspiring filmmaker turned on his heel and ran.  Everyone knew the stories.  If Montgomery de la Cruz’s gang got hold of you…well, death would be a welcome friend indeed.  He ran for his life, stopping only to shout into a single classroom – the one where Jensen’s brother was currently stuck in.  “Hey, Foley, your brother’s being attacked!” he’d shouted, bursting through the door.  Two bodies rose fast from their seats, but Miles had paid them no mind.  He raced all the way through the second floor, down the stairs, into the arts annex and hid behind the door of the AV locker.  The door locked when shut, and only three people had a key – Mr. Fives, the AV teacher; administration, and Miles himself.

 _I’ll just wait them out,_ the frightened sophomore thought.  _That door is solid steel.  A battering ram couldn’t get through it._

Miles’s heart raced as he fought to compose himself.  He pressed his ear to the door, hoping to hear the blissful sound of silence on the other side.

There were voices.  Voices calling out, for him, he supposed.  Peering through the thick reinforced window set into the door, the short, skinny young man saw a flurry of light blue jackets grasping at doorknobs and crying through locks.  _“Hey, kid, come on out,”_ Miles heard one of them say.  _“We know what you saw.  It’s okay.  We’re here to help you!”_

The light blue jackets didn’t convince him.  Jensen’s attackers were wearing the same colors.  Miles sank down the length of the solid barrier keeping him safe for the moment.

 _“Fuck, Parker, think!”_ another voice said.  _“We probably look like those fucks that attacked Clay!”_

 _“Oh, shit, yeah,”_ the first kid said.  _“Look, kid, I know what you’re thinking…we’re not them, okay?  We wanna help Jensen and his people.”_ Something was shuffling outside, and Miles dared another peek out the window to see two jocks stripping out of their coats like hookers at a VIP show.  One of them had red hair.  The other was shorter, and looked like some kind of trainer or athletic tech.

Miles gulped.  Everyone knew there were now two factions of jocks at Liberty High.  The question was, were these reformers, or were they the assholes that had jumped one kid and were now threatening him?

He dared another look.  These didn’t look like the jocks that had attacked Jensen.  Biting his lip and praying he was making the right decision, he slowly turned the lock on the AV door. _“I’ve got copies,”_ he’d said, daring those in pursuit of him.  _“So pounding the shit out of me isn’t gonna work too well…”_

The two jocks that were looking for him raced over, eying him up and down.  _“You’re not hurt?”_ one of them asked, looking relieved.

 _“No,_ ” Miles had said.  _“Not for now, anyway.”_

_“Hey, we’re not gonna hurt you.  Parker, send up a text.  Tell Jensen’s people we’ve got him.  Scotty too.  They’ll know what to do.”_

_“Look, whatever this is…I don’t want no part of it.  Just…just leave me alone, okay?”_

The kid named Parker received a text. His long face grew longer as he read.  _“They’re taking Jensen home,”_ he’d said.  _“And we’re supposed to bring this kid there.  Something about a meeting to end Monty and his fucks once and for all.”_

 _“Thank fuck.”_ The shorter tech heaved a sigh.  _“Sorry, kid.  You’re coming with us.”_

The next thing Miles knew, he had an honor guard of about five jocks, Scott Reed among them.  The sight of Reed put Miles a little at ease.  Everyone knew he was now the head of the set of jocks that were “reformed,” or trying to change the athletic culture at Liberty.  They were the good guys.  He found himself in the middle of a Dodge Charger, surrounded by jocks, racing up the main streets and through a relatively quiet neighborhood.  Several cars were already lined up and down the street, making finding a space difficult.  Once parked, Scott Reed and another of the jocks, a big, beefy kid known only as Butch, walked up a wide set of stairs to a rather neat house and knocked on the door.

“Um, guys?” Miles asked.  “My dad’s gonna wonder why I cut three hours of school…”

“Tell him it was in the interest of justice, kid,” his other self-appointed bodyguard said.  Parker Travis shook his red hair out a little, as though there was a bug in it.  “That tape of yours is gonna change the world.”

 _Oh, shit._   Miles started picking at his cuticles – a sure sign he was nervous as hell.  Soon he felt a slight shake against his shoulder.  “They’re ready for us, kid,” Dale said, smiling.  “Relax.  There’s nothing to worry about, okay?  No trouble.”

“No trouble?  You chased me down, forced me out of school, took me to this place, and now you want me to go in and take your word I’m gonna come out alive?”  Miles chuckled without mirth.  “Guys, I guess I get it, but you couldn’t have just asked me for a couple of copies of the video?  Which, I will most definitely make and give you.  No charge.”  He glanced at his two bodyguards nervously.  “I mean, is de la Cruz _that_ crazy?  Am I in _that_ much danger?”

“Kid, let me tell you this – he ran Clay Jensen off the road last winter.  Nearly killed him.  Beat the shit out of Alex Standall a few months before that.  And we know he’s got an axe to grind with Jensen and his people because of the whole Bryce Walker thing.  So, yeah, he really _is_ that crazy.”  Dale ran his hands through his short curly hair.  “And now you’ve got a whole bunch of new friends making sure you stay in one piece for a while.”

“Oh, yay.”  Miles sighed.  “Could you at least tell me how many beds I’m gonna have to make up once I go home?  ‘Cause I’m pretty sure my dad’s gonna notice that I suddenly am having a sleepover.”

“Just you and him, huh?”

Miles nodded.  “Mom ran off with her lover, took my baby sister.  Broke Dad’s heart.  Bitch.”

“That sucks, dude.” Parker gently nudged the sophomore towards the front steps.  “Come on.  I hear Jensen and his family are pretty cool.”

“Have to be, to take in the likes of Foley,” Dale chuckled.  “Though I gotta say, he’s gotten a lot better since he’s been here with them.  I like him more, for sure.”

“What’s not to like, Edenberg?” a new voice said.  Miles looked up to find himself standing in the Jensen’s foyer, staring right at Justin Foley and Alex Standall.  The stories he’d heard about those two were enough to fill three Tolkien-sized volumes.  Justin gave a half-grin.  “Hey, Miles, right?”

Miles nodded.

“Thanks for coming.  Have a seat.”

Shaking a little, Miles sat in the offered chair.  Justin took one in front of him.  Behind Justin stood Tony Padilla, looking like a Latino version of the Archangel Michael, waiting to dispense justice on those deserving of it.  To the left stood Jessica Davis, and next to her Zach Dempsey towered in the doorway.  There were several others as well – Miles could pick out a few of his friends from the punk group, including his boy Cyrus, and to the right of them stood a contingent of Scott Reed’s reform jocks.   “Um, where’s Jensen?” he asked timidly.  “I mean, is he okay?”

“He’s upstairs,” Tony said.  “Hey, thanks for the warning, kid.  You saved him from some serious hurt there.”

“Did I?  I mean, he looked pretty bad there.” Miles reached for his phone.  “I can make copies of my video,” he told the gathered group.  “Hell, I can send them mass text to you all.  I mean, de la Cruz can’t threaten, maim or kill off all of us, right?”

“Not a bad idea, Miles,” Alex Standall said.  “Why don’t you do that now?”  To the rest, he said, “Numbers, guys.  The more, the better.”

Miles stood in awe as every person assembled in the room punched their digits into his smartphone.  _Good thing Dad sprung for the unlimited family plan,_ he thought.  He sent the video to everyone, five at a time.  “Cool,” he said once he was finished.  “Now, can I go home now?”

“You’re sure you don’t want in on the plan?” Justin asked.  “I mean, you’ve got a stake in this too now…”

“Dude, I’m good.  I just wanna get through high school and make videos.  I’ll leave the justice crusading to you guys.”  Miles stood up and headed for the door.  “But, um…I mean, could I get a ride home?”

Parker and Dale stood up.  “Just two beds, kid.  We’re having that sleepover.”

Miles gave a little grimace.  “Great.”

“It’s that, or Monty finds you and pounds the shit out of you.  Personally, I’d choose the sleepover.  Besides, Parker and Dale will surprise you.”  The small grin on Scott Reed’s face was hard to miss.  “I mean, they’re actually pretty cool, once you get to know them.”

“Yeah, kid.  I mean, I like movies too.” Parker smiled as he walked towards the door.  “And you never know – we might need someone to take scouting video of us jocks in the future.  Might make a good career…”

Miles shook his head.  “All right, all right.  Just let me send my dad a text.  He’s never gonna believe this one…”

“Hey, Miles?”

The sophomore’s attention turned to Justin Foley.  “Yeah?”

“Thanks.  I mean it.  Oh, you might get a call from our mom later in the week.  I have the feeling there going to be a court appearance needed by you at some point.  Don’t worry.  She’s an _excellent_ lawyer.  And you won’t have to worry about Monty and his assholes afterward, I promise.”

“No, he won’t,” Cyrus said, clapping a hand on Miles’s shoulder.  “We’ve got this.”

“And us,” Scott seconded.

“And us,” Alex replied.  “Okay, now go home.  Enjoy your sleepover with your new friends.”

Miles rolled his eyes.  How was he going to explain _this_ to his dad?


	39. Chapter 39

“The kid make it home okay?” Justin asked.  He’d asked the same question seven times in the last twenty-five minutes.

Cyrus pulled his phone out.  “Yeah.  Says his dad’s cool with the sleepover, but that you need to expect a call, Foley.  Something about a trial, questions?”

“Shit.  Yeah.”  Long fingers rubbed over a diamond face.  He turned towards the sounds of footsteps coming down the stairs.  “How is he, Sheri?”

“Asleep.  _Finally._ ”  The lithe girl flopped into an open armchair.  She stared at the assorted company their little group had managed to attract.  “Dude, you’re gonna need more chairs.”

“He’s really asleep?”

“Took some convincing, but I managed to get him to take a sleeping pill.  You’d think I was asking him to do lines or some shit…”

“Fuck,” Justin muttered under his breath.  It did not go unnoticed.  “Uh, he’s had some issues about taking anything lately.”  He shrugged his thin shoulders, part embarrassed, part ashamed.  “I guess that asshole Seth forced him to take a bunch of shit.  Made him like he was practically paralyzed, fucked with his head a little.”

The collective murmur that rippled through the room was one of anger and disgust.  It took Justin a minute to realize that it was not directed at him.

“Okay, so,” Alex said, taking the floor.  He was sitting on the loveseat in the living room.  All heads turned at the nearly standing-room only meeting.  It was an assorted mix.  Cyrus and his boys were present, seething with anger over Clay’s attack.  Justin knew the young man had taken a bit of a liking to Clay, and considered him a friend.  Scott Reed was there, along with his reform squad of baseball players.  The basketball team had several representatives, seeing as there was supposed to be conditioning tonight.  Zach had promised to keep those training in the loop.  They were there on behalf of Justin, and considered Clay an extension of the family.  Two of Tony’s brothers had shown up, and the contingent of Padillas were standing guard near the door and the stairs.  Several other groups were being kept in the loop via FaceTime and text.  “First question:  what are we gonna do about Monty?  Cause you all know this shit is gonna keep happening.”

“To you all, especially,” the kid called Butch said.  Justin studied him warily.  Butch was a wrestler, heavyweight class, and had gone to state three times, winning twice.  He was the size of a Sumo wrestler.  A beefy finger pointed at Alex, making its way across to include Jessica, Sheri, Justin, Zach and Tony.  “You derailed his plan to get the fuck outta here.”  He turned to Scott.  “You too, brah.”

“Fuck Monty,” Scott said.  “I mean, I got called a rapist most of last year, and I didn’t do shit.  So he’s gotta play nice for once.”

“This _is_ Montgomery we’re talking about,” Alex pointed out.  “I’m not sure he comprehends the meaning of _nice._ ”

“Oh, he does,” Zach said.  “About as much as Bryce understands the word ‘ _no_.’”

“We could rumble,” Cyrus said.  His boys quietly concurred.  “Maybe getting the shit kicked out of him is all he understands.”

“Well, it might, but two things:  first, he gets the shit kicked out of him on a regular basis from his old man,” Zach countered.  “Second, I can’t speak for you guys, but if I get busted, it’s jail, not juvie.  I’m no fan of Monty’s, believe me, but I’m not sure I could do jail.”

Justin looked at his friend.  “Trust me, dude.  You can’t.”

“Agreed,” Tony said.  “So no fighting.”  He raised his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes. “And I can’t believe I’m sayin’ that.”

“Well, then what?” Jessica said.  “We can’t surround Clay, or all of us, with bubble wrap.  And that kid Miles…I mean, I’m willing to go talk to him, but you saw how he looked leaving here.  You’d have thought we kidnapped him and were forcing him to eat razor wire.”

Scott looked sheepish.  “Uh, we did kind of shanghai him.  Kinda.”

Several sets of eyes rolled. 

“But nothing serious!  I mean, we just… _explained_ how it was a choice of coming with us or going through school and hoping Monty didn’t find him.  The kid wasn’t happy about it, but he had choices.”

“Well, we’ve got evidence,” Justin said.  “Miles’s video proves that Monty and his boys were up to no good.”  He scanned the room cautiously.  “Right?”

Alex pulled out his phone and walked over to Mrs. Jensen’s computer.  A few clicks from Justin and a USB connection from Cyrus later, the assembled group was peering down at the small screen.  They saw Monty and his boys surrounding Clay at his locker.  They saw Monty grab hold of Clay’s hair and say something in the smaller boy’s ear.

“Fuck!” Justin spat.  “The hair.  How the _fuck_ did he know about _that_?”

“Gym class,” said one of the punk kids.  Justin thought his name was Chad.  “We were doing wrestling moves.  Someone accidentally grabbed Clay’s hair, and he had this, like, mini freak-out.  Went all rigid, started mumbling under his breath.”  The boy shivered a little, despite wearing a thick jean jacket.  “He snapped out of it pretty quick, though.  Someone splashed water on him, woke him up.”  Chad paused.  “Hey, play that back.”

Alex rewound a little.  Chad studied the faces of Monty’s boys.  “None of them were there.  Is there audio?”

Justin turned up the sound.  At full volume, the noise was very faint.  As the video played, the group could make out a few words.

“Is he screaming to be let go?” Sheri asked.

They played it again.  “Yeah,” one of the basketball guys said, a kid named Jacob Bell.  He studied the screen closer.  “Damn, I wish he’d gotten closer.  I could probably lip read what they’re saying.”

Justin turned.  “You can _do_ that?”

“My parents are deaf.  They taught me.  And my sisters.”  At that revelation, the jocks in the room murmured appreciatively.  “Didn’t you guys ever wonder why they wave signs instead of cheer?”

“Let’s see if we can’t get closer,” Chad said.  “Standall, move over.”  Alex complied, swinging the chair he was using over to the side.  The kid pulled over a dining room chair and started messing with the video program.  The screen blew up about a quarter larger.  “That work?”

Jacob glanced at the screen.  “Better.  Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The video resumed.  “Monty’s saying something about…causing trouble?  Fucking up people’s lives?”

“That fits,” Sheri said.  “You should have heard him when Clay was missing.  He actually _hoped_ whoever took him killed Clay!  Because Clay shut down Bryce and his asshole shit.”

“Fuck me,” Tony said.  Next to him, his brothers murmured.  “I meant it, guys.  I’ll do time for Clay.  Even murder.  Right now, I’m not finding a reason for Monty to live much longer.”

“You do, and you’ll break his heart, Tony,” Justin warned.  “And that would kill him just as quick.  Trust me.  I know.”

The two young men gave each other a long, meaningful look.  “He needs _both_ of you, idiots,” Sheri said.  “Don’t play me.  I know that look.”

“I wasn’t thinking nothing,” Justin said.

“Me either,” Tony seconded.

“And I’m Stephen Hawking,” Sheri retorted.  “I mean it.  Or _I’ll_ kick your asses.”

“Yikes,” Cyrus said.  He looked at Justin and Tony.  “Sorry, guys.  You’re on your own there.”

“Hey, this is weird,” Jacob said.  “Monty’s saying that Keith Cody told him about Clay’s…trigger, I guess?”

Chad closed his eyes.  “Yeah, Keith _is_ in the same gym class.  He would have seen it go down.”

“So this was planned?” Alex asked.

“Looks like.”

Justin looked at his other best friend.  “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we have a chat with Mrs. Jensen later.”  At the room full of blank, confused stares, he explained, “It’s conspiracy.  Keith knew Clay reacted that way, and he told Monty about it, who used it to terrorize him.  At the least, it’s assault.”

“Could we make a terrorism charge stick?” Zach wondered.  “I mean, since he planned it and all?”

The sound of sharp heels clacked onto the wooden floor.  “Justin?  Clay?  Are you…oh.  Hello…there.”

“Hi, Lainie,” Justin said.  The rest of the room offered greetings.

“Justin, why is half the senior class standing in our living room?  Not that you’re all not welcome…” The lady of the house looked at her second child, puzzled.  “And where’s Clay?”

“He’s upstairs, Mrs. Jensen,” Sheri said quickly.  “Sleeping.”

“We hope,” Alex muttered.  To Mrs. Jensen he said, “We brought him home early.  He had an… _incident_ … today at school.”

“An incident?”

The assembled teenagers shook their heads.  “Long story short, Mrs. Jensen:  Monty and his boys triggered a PTSD episode on Clay,” Tony explained.  “We got him out of there.  It was a pretty bad one.”

“And you know this?”

“We have proof,” Jessica said, motioning towards the computer screen.  Chad rewound the video, letting it play.  The room stilled as Mrs. Jensen saw her first child surrounded by enemies, and then deliberately terrorized by them.  “How did you get this?” she asked.

“Sophomore kid, Mrs. Jensen,” Scott Reed said.  “I’m Scott, by the way.  The kid took the video on accident, and when he was caught he ran like hell.”

“He stopped long enough to tell us about Clay,” Justin added.  “Tony and I got him, but those assholes in the video were nowhere to be found.”

“And the rest of us went looking for the kid, ‘cause we knew if Monty got him first…” Cyrus said.  He waved a little.  “Um, Cyrus.  Friend of Clay’s.”

“You found him?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Butch said.  “Butch,” he said, pointing at himself.  “We brought him here, he gave us copies, and we’ve got protection on him now.”

“The police are involved?”

“No, ma’am.”  A tall kid pointed at himself.  “Jacob Bell.  Nah, Scotty had two of his boys take the kid home.  I think they’re even staying overnight to make sure he’s got someone with him.  Monty’s an asshole, ma’am.  He’d try something, even at the kid’s house.”

“Monty?”

“Montgomery de la Cruz,” Alex said.  “He’s a dick.  Spent a lot of time last year threatening and terrorizing us over the Baker trial.” Alex motioned to his usual friend group.  “We couldn’t prove it, but it was him.”

“He trashed my Mustang,” Tony said.  “And he’s the one who ran Clay off the road.”

Mrs. Jensen’s lips tightened.  “I see.”

“We thought, since we’ve got video of the incident, and witnesses to conspiracy, maybe we could file charges against these assholes?” Jessica asked.  “Cause Monty’s persistent.  He’ll try again.”  She rolled her eyes in disgust.  “And again.”

Mrs. Jensen took a breath.  She looked around at the assembly in her living room, all willing to help her son.  “Okay.  First, Alex, call your dad.  Have him come for dinner.  Is your mother working tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect.  We’ll discuss this over dinner.”  To the rest of the teens, she said, “Right now, go home.  We’ll keep everyone updated.  Tony, you’re welcome to stay.  And by welcome, I mean expected.”

“Sure thing.”  He turned to his brothers.  “Tell Mami I won’t be home for dinner, _comprendes_?”

“No problem.  See you tonight.”  With that, the older Padilla boys took their leave.  Slowly, the rest of the group followed suit.  The tall basketball player lingered, clearing his throat.  “Um, Mrs. Jensen?”

“Yes?”

“We used lip reading on some of the video.  I can do it.  If you…if you need a translation, or anything, I’ll help.  Justin has my number.”

“Thank you…Jacob, was it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  With a nod, he too turned for the door.

Soon the living room cleared, leaving Justin, Alex, and Tony sitting in the living room.  “Okay.  Start from the beginning.  Who is this kid, and why is he going after Clay?”

The three teens glanced at each other nervously.  “Well, you see, Mrs. Jensen,” Alex began, “it all has to do with the Baker trial…”


	40. Chapter 40

**March 3rd**

Scott Reed clapped his hands, hoping against all hope that the throng of athletes he’d assembled in the practice gym would cease their chatter.  The sounds of conversations continued, much to his dismay.  “Hey, guys!” he shouted.  “Listen up!”

No one even noticed.  The talking increased.

A sharp, loud whistle split the air, deafening part of the crowd and instantly silencing the rest.  Scott held his right ear and glared at Butch, who shrugged.  “Sorry, brah,” he said, his Hawaiian slang getting the better of him.  To the rest, the beefy kid shouted, “Hey, shut up!  We’re here for a reason, yeah?”

Murmurs of assent waved through the crowd.  Scott was kind of impressed at the turnout – all the girls sports, plus about half of the guys as well.  Baseball had a 50% turnout, but they were more than made up for by the entire basketball team and a third of the football squad.  He’d figured that he’d get the girls and his new band of “reformers,” which seemed to be growing in size by the week.  Surprisingly, there were other groups in attendance.  To one side sat Cyrus and his punks; on another, Micah Jennings and a gaggle of art students sat attentively.  Even some of the shop kids, led by Tony Padilla, took a minute out of their schedules to come to this meeting.

First things first.  “Okay, so.  You’re probably wondering why I called this little meeting…”

“Thought had crossed my mind, Scotty,” Jacob Bell said, representing the basketball squad.  Zach Dempsey sat next to him, and behind him the face of Justin Foley peeked out.  “I mean, we could be practicing now.  What gives?”

“Well, couple of reasons.  First, Justin, how’s Clay?”

The skinny kid shrugged.  “Better, I guess.  It’d be nice if we could nail that bastard Monty, but Mrs. Jensen says even with our evidence, all we really can do now is file a restraining order.  She’s working on that now.”

More murmurs.  “That _sucks_ , man,” Rafe Stillwell, the quarterback of the football team said, shaking a tanned fist.  “All that, and no one can nail the bastard?”

Justin shrugged.  “I mean, we _could_ , but…I mean, look at us.  Half of us are eighteen.  Let me tell you from experience – you _don’t_ want to go to jail.  Juvie was bad enough.”

“Fuck,” someone else blurted out.  Scott looked up to see a shop guy called Soto shake his head.  “Rat bastard.  Maybe we fix his ride, yeah?”  The look on the guy’s face told Scotty that _“fix”_ was a term loosely used in this sense.

“No, that won’t work either,” Nina said.  She was on the track team.  “We can’t stoop to their level, guys.  It just makes _us_ as bad as _they_ are.”

The room sounded with assent.

“Okay, so, that end’s being taken care of.  Justin, keep us informed.  Got it?”

“Yeah.”  A curly head nodded.  “We will.”

“That’s one of the focuses today, guys – we’ve gotta stick together if we’re gonna get anything to change.  I can’t speak for the rest of you, but I know I was pissed when I got thrown in with those assholes that got busted for rape.  Especially since I didn’t do that shit.”  Scott spat the last words out of his mouth as though they were on fire.  “I mean, I’m not perfect – none of us are – but I know better, and I’m assuming since you’re all here that you wanna see some changes too.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Nina said.  “But how?  I mean, even with this many of us, there’s like, what, a _third_ of the athletes here?  And assorted other groups?” she added, motioning towards the non-athletic groups.

“One thing we noticed the other day was that we kind of blend in with the assholes,” Parker Travis added, giving his boy Dale Edenberg a conspiratorial look.  “I mean, that poor kid, Miles…here we are, trying to help him, and he’s running because we look like the guys giving some other kid a thorough fucking over!”

“Parker’s right.  First thing we gotta do is distance ourselves – from assholes like Monty and Bryce.”  Dale stood up, moving animatedly.  “And from coaches like Coach Rick.”

The girls gave an appreciative murmur.  “Sounds good,” Jessica Davis said, seated with the cheerleading squad, though she was no longer a cheerleader herself.  “What’s the plan?  I mean, we can’t fire everyone.  Or cut them.  Boland would have a coronary.”

Several groups conceded the point.  Scott raised his hands, and thankfully silence greeted him.  “I say we start by rewriting our Honor Codes for Athletics,” he said.  “And making sure that athletes and other interested groups stick to them.  We can’t be allowing this shit here anymore.  Too many people are dead or worse because of it.”

“Good idea,” called Alex Standall, seated with Cyrus and his boys.  “But I’d take it a step further and demand that it be a charter for _all_ our students, not just the athletes.  I mean, yeah, athletes were the worst with it, no offense, but we can’t leave a door open for anyone to try that shit.  Not anymore.”

The idea got a plethora of positive attention.  “I can write that up,” Justin said.  “Or better yet, Clay.  I think he’d be perfect for this, since he’s been in the thick of it since the beginning.”

“We can get a committee started, send delegates from all the teams and student groups,” Delecia Harris said, a volleyball player.  She shook her long black hair as she spoke.  “Make a list of what we want to see in our revised Honor Code and then have Clay write it out.”

“So we’re all in favor of Clay Jensen writing this thing?” Scott asked.  The chorus of yeses was overwhelming.  “Good.  I’d say that’s settled.”

“I think we should really think about changing our colors,” Dale suggested.  “To differentiate ourselves from the unenlightened assholes among our ranks.”  Dale was an honor student, and was currently fifth in the senior class. 

“I can’t speak for you, brah, but my coat cost a _fortune_ ,” Butch said.  “I mean, I like the idea, but…”

“Well, we could just do a color swap.  Dark blue with light blue features and trim.  That way, we don’t have to replace everything, and I know where we can get the varsity coats cheap.  Even yours, Butch.  They go up to an 8X.”

Deliberations swept across the room.  “I have to say, I like the idea,” Jessica said.  “You know Boland and the school board aren’t gonna let us change much, but if we just swap the colors around they can’t bitch too much.”

“Plus, no replacing everything,” Colin Evers, captain of the boys’ track team, concurred.  “Not everyone has Bryce Walker’s money.  Track doesn’t get enough love as it is.”

“Everyone in favor of swapping our colors from light blue with dark trim to dark blue with light trim?” Scott asked.  The majority vote was there, but there were still some questions on how to get replacements for those with tight budgets. 

“Let me worry about that,” Zach Dempsey said.  “If you want a new jacket, we’ll make it happen.”

“Okay, then.  That’s it from me.  Anyone else want to put forward new business?”

“Yeah,” Susan Hayworth said.  She was a lacrosse goalie.  “How about we have more meetings like this?  All the sports, all the groups.  Makes for a good check-in, just to keep up with how things are around this place.  I say once a month?”

“I could do that,” Scott said.  The guys from basketball and baseball agreed.

“Us too,” the girls track, basketball, lacrosse, and cheerleading teams said.

“Count us in,” Cyrus said, speaking for his group.

“We can do that,” Tony said, speaking for the shop kids.

“Agreed,” Micah said, and the art students nodded.  “Plus, we in the art department have decided to do some work promoting these changes.  Expect some new art in the halls in about a week.  More permanent pieces in three.”

“Wow,” Scott said.  “Thanks.”

“Hey, it’s all about cooperation, right?” Micah smiled.  “Us non-athletes are important too.”

Scott nodded his head.  “Okay, that’s all.  Meeting adjourned, I suppose.  If you want help with new jackets, see Dale and Zach.  Thanks, everybody.”  Inwardly, he smiled.  He wanted to see a _real_ change before he graduated in a few months.  Fuck Boland.  Fuck the school board.  They didn’t have to survive this hellhole.  Scott wanted to come out of a place that had a better reputation than the one Liberty High currently had, and besides, if nothing else, it would look good on a college application, right?


	41. Chapter 41

**March 10th**

“I have to say, you are a model of determination, Clay.”

Clay rolled his eyes.  Next to him, Justin sat resolutely in the stiff chair, his new dark-blue varsity jacket resting over his shoulders like a coat of armor.  _It figures,_ Clay thought.  _The students try to_ improve _things and not only are we called out on it, but who gets tagged for it?_

Boland continued, his snide monotone never wavering.  “And you, Mr. Foley.  I have to say, considering your record, I didn’t see this coming from you.”

“So someone can’t want to change?” Clay challenged.  “Someone can’t want to make things better for themselves?  Or others?”

“Enough, Clay.”  Boland tapped his fingers together in a poor imitation of a steeple.  “I think you’ve already said enough.”  The principal flicked over a small sheaf of paper with the words _Revised Honor Code for Students and Athletes of Liberty High_ emblazoned on it.  He took it in his wrinkled hands, leafing through the collective manifesto the majority of the student body came up with.  “So, you’re both telling me that this was not something the two of you cooked up some night when you…couldn’t sleep, perhaps?”

“No, sir.”  Justin’s answer was sharp and biting.  To Clay, it was as though his brother had perfected the art of telling authority to politely fuck themselves without ever uttering a curse.  He privately made a note to take lessons on how to do that himself.  “That document was created and approved by almost two-thirds of the student body here at Liberty.  Clay just put it in words.”

“And Justin helped,” Clay added.  _Might as well give credit where it’s due…_

“And what was so wrong with the Honor Code we had in place?  No one came to me to lodge a complaint.”

“Because we know exactly what you’d tell us,” Clay said.  His voice never rose.  “You’d tell us that there’s nothing wrong here at Liberty High.  Students don’t get raped or abused here.  Girls aren’t made to feel like sex objects, like they’re worthless unless they’re supporting some athlete on an ego trip.”

“There’s a real problem here,” Justin seconded.  “There has been.  There still _is._ ”

“I didn’t hear anyone complaining when your "brother" here went missing, Justin.  In fact, I believe I noticed more than a few disparate groups banding together for a common cause.”  Clay noticed the faint traces of a smirk playing over the older man’s lips.  It made him want to slap Boland across his smug face.  “I do believe there was even a bit of unauthorized fundraising that went on at that time.  Now, strictly speaking, those funds should be returned as soon as possible.”

Clay turned to Justin, his eyebrows knitted together.  “What fundraising?”

“Later,” Justin snapped.  “You know damn well that money’s tied up in court.  Unless you’d like to convince a judge to let that asshole back on the street?”  Justin snorted.  “Yeah, you probably would, I bet.”

“Enough!” Boland shouted, making Justin cringe a little.  Even Clay was a little taken aback.  Not because of his brother’s words, but that he was even attacking the man in the first place.  Even after everything – the trial, juvie, the adoption, Clay’s kidnapping, the resulting fallout from each event since -- Justin was still not one to go looking for a fight.  He talked a good game, but he wasn’t anywhere near Clay’s league when it came to fighting monsters or tilting at windmills. 

 _Damn.  I must be rubbing off on him._   The thought made Clay smile.

“I will _not_ be spoken to like that.  Do you understand?”  The steam was pouring out from Boland’s ears. Justin stared at the corner of the room.  Clay noticed.  It was an improvement from the latest Jensen staring at his shoes when cornered in an argument.  No apology was forthcoming either, it seemed.

 _I must_ really _be rubbing off on him._   That thought made Clay sober up a bit.

“Despite what you both seem to think, I am not the monster here.  I did not set this…unfortunate chain of events into motion.  But, it seems you persist in your belief that somehow I am to blame for the tragedies that have befallen this school as of late.”

“But, aren’t you?” Clay asked.  “I mean, you are the one who sets the rules of this school, aren’t you?”

“I am assisted by state laws, federal laws, and have the guidance of the school board to help in implementing rules that are both reasonable and appropriate.  Believe it or not, boys, I have no wish to see students harmed.  It pains me to think that there have been so many tragedies in such a short time.”  Boland’s hands began to wring together a little.

“You can save it.  There’s no cameras here,” Justin muttered.

“I’m sorry?”

“There’s also no rich people listening in,” Clay said. “When the tapes leaked, _everyone_ heard about Bryce Walker’s crimes.”  When Boland opened his mouth to speak, Clay held up a hand to silence him.  “I know, you’re gonna say that his crimes happened off school property, which is true, but you were pretty eager to take his parents’ money all the same.”

“Funding for public schools, especially nowadays, is difficult to come by at best,” Boland said.  “When some of our more affluent families wish to make a generous donation, one does not turn that down.”

“Bryce was dealing.  Did you know that?” Justin’s face bore directly into Boland’s, green eyes challenging watery blue ones.  “He sold weed, coke, sometimes harder stuff.  Not enough to get noticed, but he was.  Right here in these hallways.  I can get a hundred guys on five sports teams to admit they bought from him.  You want to explain that one?”

“He used a maintenance shed to party, get high, and rape girls,” Clay added.  “But you don’t believe that either, I bet.”

“Show me some proof, and I might.”

Clay exhaled audibly.  “Fine.  Whatever.  What about Montgomery?  I suppose his attacking me a couple weeks ago was okay…”

“I was led to understand you had a PTSD attack, Clay.  You are currently seeing a therapist for the condition?”

“Forget it, Clay,” Justin snapped.  “He’s pissed because he can’t run his little empire anymore.  He’s like that big sand turkey – the one that buries its head?”

“An ostrich.”

“Yeah, that.”  Justin clenched and unclenched his fists.  Clay had never seen his brother so worked up, not even when _he_ had been the subject of Justin’s ire just after Hannah’s suicide.  “So the students and most of the athletes decided to make a few changes for the better, so what?  We did it, on our own dime.  Not like it cost you anything.”

“You fail to see the point, Justin.  It’s not about money…”

“Bullshit.  _Everything’s_ about money.  You said so yourself.”

“Athletics bring in money, Mr. Boland.  Even I know that,” Clay added.  “But when we changed the school’s colors, you couldn’t claim them as yours.  When we changed the Honor Codes, you couldn’t point at it and say, _“I helped with that.”_ As far as I or anyone else can tell, you’re perfectly okay with letting things go on as they have for decades.  That’s probably how long the abuse has gone on here.”

“For the last time, there was no abuse!  How many times do I have to say it?  Even a court of law proved it!”

“Just like it decided Bryce Walker was a stand-up guy that made a little mistake,” Justin countered.  “I’m here to tell you, it _wasn’t_ a little mistake.  He destroyed one girl’s life that we can _prove._ He destroyed another that we know about.”

“Bryce _raped_ Hannah Baker, Mr. Boland.  I know you didn’t bother to listen to the tapes, legal reasons or some bullshit, but she said so in her recorded suicide note,” Clay said passionately.  “And look what happened.  Other people made her life hell, but a lot of that happened right here at Liberty.  What you’re saying is that it’s okay that Bryce Walker raped her, and Jessica Davis, and a _lot_ of other girls, apparently.  Just because he was a star athlete.”

“And stupidly rich,” Justin commented.  “Don’t forget that.”

“Yeah.”  Clay’s eyes now bore down on the rapidly aging principal, blue eyes clashing with blue.  “You basically said that my kidnapping was a nuisance.  That maybe I should have died.”

“I never said any such…”

“Oh?  I never heard about any fundraising.  I mean, I was locked in a hotbox and being tortured by a crazy meth addict at the time, but I’m sure that the subject would have eventually come up at my house since then.  Or with my friends.  All of whom never said a word.  Not one student has said anything about it.  Not even those who would, apparently, like to see me either dead or rendered clinically insane.”  Clay nearly spat the last words out of his mouth.  He rose from his seat, forcing Boland to do the same.  “Do you know what that asshole was demanding from my family?  More money than we’d see in five years, let alone two days.  And the sad thing is, he was always planning to kill me.  And Justin.  I know that’s not your fault, but the idea that you would deliberately stop an effort to save an imperiled student?  Or use that against a student for your own ends?  I’m eighteen, and yeah, I’m young, but I’m not an idiot.”  Clay sank back to his seat. The admission had taken a lot out of him, and he was sure it showed over every inch of his being.

“You’re twisting things completely out of proportion.  It certainly doesn’t allow you, a student, to go over the heads of both school administration and the school board to enact rules of your own design.”

“Have you even _read_ the revisions?” Justin challenged.  “Or did you just duck your head in the sand, like that turkey?”

“Ostrich, Justin.  It’s an ostrich.  Wikipedia is your friend here.” Clay’s palm was plastered fully over his face.  He hoped it hid the smile that was creeping over it.

“No, I didn’t.  And as of now, anyone wearing a dark-blue varsity jacket will have it confiscated, and serve detention until further notice.  I will not let the students dictate what happens in this school.”

Just then the door opened, and a pair of heels clicked against the tile floor.  “Gary,” a female voice said, stopping behind Clay and Justin’s chairs.  “My sons are causing trouble?  That was the complaint, was it not?”

“Mrs. Jensen.” Boland settled back in his desk chair, confidence flooding his face.  “It seems both Clay and Justin were found to be part of an… _interesting_ conspiracy as of late.”  He nodded towards Justin’s varsity jacket.  “I’m sure you’re aware of the school’s official school colors?”

“I am.”  Clay sank in his chair.  His mother’s voice never wavered.

“Then you know about this as well, I assume?”  Boland flipped the revised Honor Code over and handed it to her, and it was accepted.  “Revisions to the school’s Honor Codes are required to be reviewed by myself, the other administrators, and the school board.  Your sons, it seems, decided to forgo that part of the process.”

“Mom, almost everyone here wants them changed,” Clay started to argue.  He turned to face his mother, who kept her “lawyer face” on firmly.  Not even a poker champion could read it.  “And you know what it’s like here.  They won’t.  People are gonna keep getting hurt.  Keep getting assaulted.”

“Keep getting raped,” Justin added.  He too was working a look – his patented _lost puppy dog_ look.  Clay would give his college fund and his entire collection of _Alien Killer Robots_ comics to know how he made it work. “Keep the assholes in charge around here, and everyone else some kind of…I dunno, _thing_ to be used and tossed aside by them.”  He turned to glare at Boland.  “I’m tired of being a _thing._   I know a lot of others who are sick of it too.”

“Regardless, there are channels…”

Clay’s eyes widened when he saw a thin manila envelope pass from his mother’s briefcase and into Boland’s hands.  “I’m sure there are.  Right now, though, I’d be more worried about other things.”

Boland looked perplexed.  “What is this?”

“It’s a subpoena.  You did know we are pressing charges against Montgomery de la Cruz for the assault on Clay a few days ago?”

“I was…not aware.”  Eyes shifted to the two boys in the middle of the warring adults in the room.

Clay was stunned.  “Me either.”

“Don’t look at me,” Justin said, holding up his hands.

“We have evidence that he conspired with several other students to trigger a PTSD episode in Clay.  Hard evidence, Gary, as well as eyewitness testimony and some good circumstantial evidence.”  The lawyer face never cracked.  “Because of this, as well as other events that have occurred her at Liberty, we feel that the culture here may have contributed to the attack, as well as several others going back several years.  Clay’s attack we can prove, but I think the supporting evidence we have is proof enough to find a change of leadership is required to see some real progress come about here.  I expect you’ll respond to that subpoena in a timely matter?”

Boland withered.  Clay was thrilled.  “I…don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“You could run,” Justin said.  “I did.  Word of advice, if you do?  Pack warm.  And know where to hide your money.  It’s the first thing people look for, on the street.”

“Justin, enough,” his mother said.  His brother wisely fell silent.  “There will be a special meeting of the school board next month, in light of recent developments.  I anticipate a rather decent turnout of parents and concerned parties to be represented.”  Her attention fell to her sons.  “Now, you two.  Not one more word.  Get in the car and get home.  At once.”

Justin pulled the keys to their Prius out of his pocket.  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, not one syllable of it derogatory.  Clay followed close behind, thanking his lucky stars that they’d been able to dodge a bullet.  Once in the car, he let out a long-held breath.  “I did _not_ expect that,” he said.

“Me either,” Justin said.  “Guess we know what the dinner conversation’s about tonight, huh?”

Clay nodded.  “I guess.”  He leaned back in the seat.  “I can’t wait to graduate.  Finally be done with this shit.”

Justin put the Prius into drive. “You and me both, Clay.  You and me both.”


	42. Chapter 42

**March 21st**

“Clay, this letter came for you today.”  A thick envelope appeared in Lainie’s hand as she passed the mail to her first child. 

“I thought I got the mail.  Just a bunch of junk mail and bills.”  The eighteen year old’s face was a mask of perplexity.  “No college apps yet, so…”

“It’s from the court,” his mother replied.  She tapped a finger next to the embossed letterhead in the left hand corner of the parcel Clay held.  “Probably something to do with the restraining order papers we filed a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Clay remembered that day.  He’d been sitting in first period French when the commotion started.  Monty’s shouts could be heard through the closed classroom door, and none of them were particularly flattering.  _“That motherfucking nutcase_ and _that sellout can kiss my ass!”_ Clay remembered hearing.  _“This is fucking_ bullshit _!”_

Later, Justin gave Clay the play-by-play.  Deputy Evans had come in with his partner, a man named Wilson, and removed him from the room in handcuffs.  Monty and Justin had first period advanced algebra together, and Monty apparently had some choice words for the newest Jensen once he’d heard the charges against him.   

 _“I never_ touched _that asshole!  You can’t prove_ shit _!”_ Justin had chortled at dinner that night.  “I mean, fuck.  We had Miles’s video, and his testimony.  Plus, Keith gave him up.  He’s a dick, but not stupid enough to throw away a merit scholarship to the University of Michigan.  I mean, he was…it was…”

 _Glorious,_ Clay remembered saying.  The letter in his hand, however, looked different than when he’d received the subpeona for the Baker trial.  “Mom, this is from _federal_ court,” he said, studying the letterhead closer.  “We don’t have a federal courthouse here, do we?”

“No,” she said.  “The federal courthouse is just outside of Oakland.  Let me see that, please?”

Clay surrendered the envelope.  Lainie pried it open and removed the contents, scanning the typewritten information quickly.  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Mom.  Language.”  Clay smirked a small smile.

“I…that…ooh, those _assholes.”_ She thrust the letter in her child’s hand.  “They want you to appear next Wednesday in front of the judge,” she explained.  “It seems Seth Griffith was _somehow_ able to cut a deal.”

Seth’s victim felt as though he’d been stabbed in the gut.  “So…what does that mean?  He, I dunno…gets a free pass for kidnapping and torturing me?”  Clay sank into a nearby dining room chair.  He could literally feel the whole world crashing around him.  It settled heavily like a weight on his shoulders, threatening to drown him in disbelief.  “I mean, how does that _happen?”_

“Oh, honey.”  Lainie inched closer to her son, cautiously putting her arm around him.  Clay had been slowly getting better at letting people touch him, though his hair was still somewhat of an issue.  “I suppose you’ll find out next Wednesday.  It’s a judge’s order, so you have to go.”

“Wait.  Do I…should we get a lawyer?”  Clay’s bright eyes widened fearfully.  “You said yourself, criminal law wasn’t your thing…”

“No, it wasn’t.  But I don’t think you need a criminal lawyer.  I can go with you, if you want.  Or we could ask Dennis.  I’m pretty sure he has some experience working in the county attorney’s office before…”

“It’s fine.  You can come, if you want.”  Lainie heard what her son wasn’t asking.  It was written all over his face.  _Please tell me they’re not letting him go.  Tell me he’s going to prison for a long, long time._

She could, but not with any certainty. 

* * *

 

**March 31st**

“…and that’s the jist of it.  We can’t pass up a line on nailing Carerro and his network.”

Clay felt like he was being punched.  He’d driven with his mother to the federal courthouse near Oakland, anticipating a conversation with a federal judge, William Mayfield.  When they got there, they were surprised by a federal attorney, one Richard Holt.  Holt was a skinny, straw-like man with a face that reminded Clay of the time he caught Alex eating lemons dipped in sugar.  The man’s lips were pursed so tight a toothpick couldn’t have gotten into his mouth.  “So, that’s it?” he said weakly.  “He just…gets away with kidnapping?  With torture?  With almost killing me and my brother?”

“He’s not getting away with it, Clay,” the judge said.  He was an older man, one that put him in mind of his grandfather.  Short, balding with a full white beard, and deep brown eyes that could turn from comforting to stern in a fraction of a second.  “He’ll still have to do time for what he did to you.”

“Not enough.” 

“He’s going under as a confidential informant in the cartels, Clay,” Holt said, trying to be supportive but failing miserably.  Clay wanted to punch him.  “It’s not a free pass.”

“He gets to walk around free in five years while I get to look over my shoulder.  While Justin has to look over _his_ shoulder, praying like hell the asshole doesn’t try something else.”  Seth’s victim glared at the lawyer.  “Fuck.”

“Language, young man.”  Judge Mayfield cast his stern gaze upon him, and Clay withered slightly.

“I’m sorry.  It’s just…he’ll try again.  I know it.”

“So, this is it, then?  We can’t petition or get a say in this?” Lainie challenged.  “Because I have to agree with my son – there’s no justice here for him.  He suffered too.  He’s _still_ suffering from that despicable man’s actions.  My other son as well.  They’re just…collateral damage?  Pawns that get swept under the rug because of the so-called ‘big picture’?”

“Mrs. Jensen, the deal is that he spends five years in a federal prison.  Five years which he has to reestablish his contacts in Carerro’s network in hopes of providing evidence to connect them to the major Mexican cartels.  Even after the five years, Seth Griffith is still mandated to report to the DEA about findings as part of his plea deal.  He may well spend the rest of his life working as an informant.”

“But you can’t guarantee he’ll do any of that,” Clay countered.  “The minute he walks out of prison he’s a free man.  He skips out on you, and he can…”  The young man shrugged.  “…finish what he started, I guess.”

“You’re putting a target on my sons’ backs, Your Honor,” Lainie said.  “Is this information _really_ worth the lives of two eighteen year old boys?  Because that’s what the price seems to be for it.”

“Ma’am, we’ve been after Jose Carerro and his network for twenty-five years,” Holt said.  “Countless members of police and DEA forces as well as numerous informants have been killed trying to get enough evidence to convict him.   Mr. Griffith has connections we need to finally put this man in a hole until he dies three deaths.  As your son is the victim, by rights he needed to be notified of the arrangement.  It’s not perfect, but it is what it is.  The ‘big picture’ is that we need a little fish to catch a bigger one.  Seth Griffith, unfortunately, is the little fish we need.”  Long, bony hands folded and the thin man settled himself back in an overstuffed leather chair.  “The DEA wants this.  The federal government wants this.  And seeing as the paperwork’s already been approved, it’s going through.  You will be notified, Clay, when he is given his conditional release.  That’s standard.  In all honesty, I really don’t foresee this man surviving long once he’s given that conditional release.  Carerro seems to have a sixth sense for sniffing out informants, and their deaths are not usually clean or dainty.”

“Oh, that’s comforting.  So I should be _grateful_ you’re basically giving him a death sentence.”

“No one said that, Mr. Jensen,” the judge said, glaring at Clay.

“Okay.  He’s implying it then.”  Clay waved a hand dismissively.  “Just so I know…if he’d have killed me, would you still be offering him this deal?”

The room fell uncomfortably silent.  “That’s not fair,” Holt complained.  “There’s no way to know.”

“Fine.  Whatever.”  Clay scowled.  He knew he was acting a touch childish, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  “Well, can I at least pick the prison he goes to?  You know, just to make sure he does, in fact, go?”

“That’s an unusual request,” Judge Mayfield said.  “Why would you want to pick?”

“Well, sir, a friend of mine has relatives doing time at Terminal Island.  My friend…well, we’re close.  He took my kidnapping pretty hard.  So did his family.”  Clay stared right into Holt’s eyes.  “So…”  _You see where this is going?_ he thought silently.

Holt’s eyes widened considerably.  Clay thought for sure they’d fall out of the man’s sockets.  “No, Your Honor.  You can’t allow this.”

“Why not?” Clay argued.  “It’s a fair trade.  I’m told my friend’s relatives promise not to kill him.”  Clay looked at the horrified faces of the federal lawyer and his mother.  “If that’s what you were worried about, I mean.”

“I’m sorry, Clay.  As…refreshing as that thought might be, the site of incarceration has already been set.  Seth Griffith will be sent to a prison in Arizona, where he can begin his mandated stint as a federal informant.”   A small smile fluttered over the judge’s lips.  “But I have to say, points to you and your friend for creativity.”

Clay’s eyes sunk to the floor.  “It was worth a shot.”

“Then I’ll consider the matter settled.  Sentencing will be next Tuesday.  You are free to give a statement before the court, as is anyone who was impacted by this case.”  Judge Mayfield stood up to walk Clay and his mother out.  “I hope to see you then.”

Clay nodded.  Then he started the walk towards the main entrance.  As they walked, his mother asked, “And just what did Tony’s relatives do to end up at Terminal Island?”

“You know, I never asked.  He just said that they wanted to see some justice done for once.  I’m not thinking Tony asked too many questions.”

Lainie shook her head.  “Well, invite him for dinner.  At least then we can break the bad news all at once.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my awful, awful Spansh. Blame Google Translate for any linguistic problems; I took French as my language in school.
> 
> If any readers wish to help correct my awful, awful Spanish, please leave a comment below!

**March 31, 9:20 pm**

The sound of metal crashing against metal ground in Javier Padilla’s ears.  He was no stranger to loud noises, but this sounded more like frustration than repairs.

“Tony?” he called out through the shop all the Padillas worked at, the one owned by their father Arturo.  The modest split-level house the family lived in was attached at the side, and it was nothing for one or more of them to race through dinner in order to get back to a paying job or a custom side project.  Lately, Javi knew that Tony had been sinking time into the new Shelby he’d received from Senor Mendes.  It was slow going, but tonight the sounds coming from the corner berth where the classic automobile sat were louder and more forceful than normal.  “Tony, _donde estas?”_

_“Por aquí. Esta Junta de la cabeza está siendo una perra...”_ Short, curly dark hair lay matted over a round face.  Tony looked up from his car, and Javi knew immediately something was wrong.

“What’s up?” he said, switching to English.  “You’ve been in a mood since you came back from Clay’s place.”

Tony heaved a sigh that could have eaten an ox.  “They’re letting him go, Javi.  That _maldito cabrón_ that tried to kill him gets a walk!”

_“¿Cómo?”_ The news surprised the eldest Padilla child.  He liked his little brother’s friend.  Clay Jensen was a bit _impulsiva_ sometimes, but a good kid.

“He had information the fucking DEA wanted.  Some cartel guy they’ve been trying to catch.  He cut a deal; five years, and then he’s got a ‘conditional release’ to go be some undercover snitch.”  Tony spat, and Javi knew what it was for. He settled down on an overturned bucket, giving Tony the space he needed to lash out.  The sounds of a wrench fighting with a rusted head gasket filled the air.  “I mean, what the _fuck,_ Javi?!  He kidnaps Clay, tortures him, damn near _kills him,_ puts Justin and their parents through _hell,_ and…he just walks?”  The wrench came down onto the useless car part with a deafening _clang._

“I don’t know, Tony.  The cartels, _no tienen nada que joder_. Probably this Seth _idiota_ will be found dead not long after, yeah?” Javi gently took the wrench from his incensed brother and began to work at the gasket.  A little finesse, and the part came loose. 

“That’s what the DEA lawyer told Clay.  That Seth would probably be killed.  And _no muy bien,_ I guess.”

“Did they say which cartel he was supposed to look into?”

Tony shook his head.  “Clay didn’t know.  Neither did Mrs. Jensen.  But they mentioned some guy named Carerro…”

“Jose Carerro?”

Short dark curls shook solemnly.  “Yeah.  _Por que?”_

“ _Mierda._ ” Javi sat the wrench down and faced his perplexed brother.  “Tony, he’s like… _un rey entre los líderes del cartel,_ a big fish.  A giant fucking fish.”  A few deep breaths came out of a stocky, well-built young man.  He’d been taking a few lessons from his brother’s boyfriend Caleb, though he was discreet enough to keep quiet about it.  Their mother had been concerned about her youngest son’s love life, and Javi knew that Tony wanted to keep the veil over her Catholic sensibilities as long as he could.  Privately, he was happy about the match.  Caleb was a good influence on Tony.  And the way they looked at each other…it was the same as his _papi_ still looked when he watched his _mami_ working in the kitchen or walking through the house.  Javi hoped one day to find a girl that could do the same for him.

“But that’s the point, Javi!  Clay Jensen is worth just as much as this other asshole.  Why does he get fucked over while his kidnapper gets a slap on the wrist?”

“Same reason your lady friend got screwed by the courts, I guess.”

“Which one?”

_“¿Qué dices?”_

“I mean there’s more than one lady friend, Javi.”  Tony pulled up an old stool and faced his big brother.  Sweat beads trickled down the younger Padilla’s forehead, and he took a swig from a frosted Coke bottle.  “Hannah Baker got fucked when the jury bought that load of bullshit Bryce Walker and the school sold them.  Jessica Davis told her story, and had _proof_ of rape in Justin Foley’s testimony, and that _maldito cabrón_ that assaulted her basically bought himself a slap on the wrist.  Hell, _Foley_ did more time than Bryce Walker, because he was poor and had shit parents before the Jensens adopted him.  And his charge was as an _accessory.”_

_“¿No jodas?”_   That piece of news made Javi sit up a little.  The soft light from the overhead fluorescents bathed the pair of Padillas in a yellowish glow.

“Hell, I told Clay to try and get the prick sent to Terminal Island,” Tony admitted.  “I thought, you know, with _Tio_ Hector and Jorge and Lupe all there…”

_Have to give you credit for creativity,_ hermano _, really we do,_ Javi thought.  It was not a known secret, but their mother’s older brother had been caught working as a distributor for a rival cartel to the Carerro organization in his youth.  Two of his sons had been snared working as dealers.  All of them were doing time now on drug charges, and would likely not see the outside of prison until they could collect Social Security, if at all.  It wasn’t hard for Javi to follow Tony’s logic; if this Seth had been imprisoned in the same place as their kin, things might have been…well, _uncomfortable_ for the convicted kidnapper, to say the least.  “So he’s not going there?”

“No.  Some pen in Arizona.  Probably so they can drop his ass in Juarez or Tijuana or some shit afterwards.  I dunno.”  Tony sighed, taking another pull on his Coke.  Javi knew the youngest Padilla son was wishing his drink had some stronger kick to it, but he’d wisely given up alcohol for the moment. 

“You know which one?”

His brother shrugged.  “I’m going next week to give an impact statement at his sentencing.  I guess I get to because I was there when Clay was rescued.  Plus, I wanna see the _cabrón_ squirm a little.  I think they’ll say where in court for the record, maybe.”

“Find out.  I guess I’d like to know too.”  Javi stood, stretching out a few kinks from his limbs.  For being twenty-five years old, there were some days he felt like he was forty.  “You know, because I’m curious.”

“Yeah.  Okay.”  Tony finished off his Coke, tossing the glass bottle in a special bin for such things.  He picked up the new head gasket for his Shelby and started to put it in place.

Javi cast his little brother a last look before heading inside.  He pulled out his phone.  _“¿Hola, Rosa? Soy Javi.  ¿Cuándo planeas volver a ver a Tio Hector…_ That soon?  Well, if you wouldn’t mind, could you have him call me?  My number is… _”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for my Spanish. All the phrases came from Google Translate. 
> 
> They are:
> 
> donde estas -- Where are you?
> 
> Por aquí. Esta Junta de la cabeza está siendo una perra -- Over here. This head gasket is being a dog (fucker)
> 
> maldito cabrón -- fucking asshole
> 
> ¿Cómo? -- How?
> 
> impulsiva -- impulsive, hotheaded
> 
> no tienen nada que joder -- they're nothing to fuck around with
> 
> idiota -- idiot
> 
> no muy bien -- not very nicely
> 
> Por que? -- Why?
> 
> Mierda -- Shit
> 
> un rey entre los líderes del cartel -- a king among the cartel leaders
> 
> Papi/Mami -- Dad/Mom
> 
> ¿Qué dices? -- What did you say?
> 
> ¿No jodas? -- No shit?
> 
> cabrón -- fucker
> 
> “¿Hola, Rosa? Soy Javi. ¿Cuándo planeas volver a ver a Tio Hector?" -- Hello, Rosa? It's Javi. When do you plan to see Uncle Hector again?


	44. Chapter 44

**April 7th**

“You ready?”

Clay glanced around the nearly empty courtroom.  The quiet was unnerving.  He sat in the front row of the gallery, opposite where his tormentor was seated.  The wiry, unkempt man lolled in his chair as though he were bored.  It pissed Clay off to no end.  “Not really.  Fucking asshole,” he murmured, his voice kept low to avoid detection.

“I know.  I guess we should be glad he’s doing a little time then, right?” Beside him, Tony gripped Clay’s shoulder, offering some badly needed support.  He and Clay were the only people attending Seth’s sentencing.  For one, the sentence was already determined, and it seemed a little anticlimactic to give an impassioned speech when the outcome was already set in stone.  For another, there was a special meeting of the Evergreen County school board that was taking place as the pair sat waiting for the judge to arrive.  Clay had wanted to attend, but his parents insisted that he come have the last word in his own case.  _“Clay, you have the opportunity to tell both this man and the legal system what happened to you,”_ his father counseled.  When the teen complained that it was for naught, Matt said, _“Sometimes it’s just about letting everything go in the wash.  No, justice isn’t going to be served here, but_ you _get to tell this man Seth just what he did and how it affected you.  How it’s_ still _affecting you.  And the lawyers, the judge, even the janitors walking through the courtroom have to listen to you, even if it’s the last thing they want.”_

The elder Jensen child ground his teeth a little as he waited, impatience coloring his nervous motions.  He looked over at his close friend, amazed that Tony wanted to come with him.  _“And why would I not want a say, Clay?”_ he’d said.  _“That asshole stole something precious to me.  He broke it,_ maldito cabron _that he is.  And it’s been a bitch to piece back together, though the result has been pretty impressive even if I say so myself.”_

“You know, you didn’t have to come,” Clay said, quirking a corner of his mouth up nervously.  “They could have used you at the board meeting.”

“Clay, they’ve got your mom, Justin _and_ Alex speaking.  And that’s to _start._   I’m pretty sure there’s gonna be a recall vote or some such, and for sure Boland’s out of a job if that happens.  I’m not _that_ slow, _hermano._ Either way, we’re getting our changes we want.  And some new administration, I think.  Nice legacy to leave as we blow this Popsicle stand, yeah?”

“Yeah.  I guess.”

“Dude, I _know._   Besides, I wanna be able to look that _cabron_ in the face and smile.”

Clay stared at his friend.  “That’s creepy.”

“Hey, you’re gonna call him _and_ the legal team that put that bullshit deal of his together a bunch of assholes and get away with it,” Tony countered, clapping Clay on the shoulder.  “You thought I would miss that?”

Bullshit or not, Clay was glad to have his friend next to him as the judge entered the courtroom.  As the robed man took his seat, the butterflies in Clay’s stomach quadrupled.  He barely heard the judge speaking.  Soon an insistent tapping on his shoulder broke him from his nervous trance.  “Dude, you’re up,” Tony hissed, pointing at the podium in the middle of the court.

Swallowing thickly, Clay rose and walked to the podium.  He cleared his throat.  “Good afternoon,” the teen began, a shiver crawling up his spine.  “Today, you’re going to pass judgement on this man,” he said, gesturing over at Seth, who looked at Clay as though he were an uninteresting gnat that need swatting.  “But it’s not the right judgement.  I know there’s a deal in place, and I know that it’s supposedly _‘in the best interest of the people’._ But what it fails to consider is that right now, _I_ am the people.  _I_ was stolen by this man.  _I_ was imprisoned against my will.  _I_ was tortured physically, mentally, and emotionally.  And not only that, but my family suffered along with me.  My friends as well.  And apparently, because he can spin lies and tell the right people the right story, justice does not come for me or mine.”

Seth’s victim paused, taking a much-needed breath.  His eyes grew wet, but no tears fell.  “Apparently, being beaten, starved, tortured, and terrorized means nothing in the eyes of the law.  That man – that so-called _valuable informant_ over there…” A shaking finger pointed at Seth, who rolled his eyes. “…gets away with his crime because he can tell the right story to the right people.”  A stuttering breath escaped Clay’s throat.  “I hope he dies.  And, as the lawyers mentioned, not very nicely.  To this day I still have nightmares about being held captive by this man.  I still have flashbacks.  I’m told in time those will lessen and fade, but I haven’t seen that happen yet.”

Clay tapped his fingers on the podium, his nerves draining with each finger strike.  “This man tormented me.  He tormented my brother before that.  He tormented my parents, whose only apparent crime was taking in a kid he threw on the street.  He tormented my friends, who sacrificed nearly everything to find and rescue me.  And for this, the government wants to reward him?  That man is no better than a rapist I know, who also escaped justice because he could tell lies and grease wheels.  If there is a just God, I hope your prize witness finds himself at someone else’s mercy while he is counting the days to his promised freedom.  I want my face to be the one you see when he slips out on your so-called deal.  Will the DEA protect me then?”  Clay turned to glare at the lawyer Holt, who was sitting next to Seth, trying to keep quiet and allow the victim his tirade.  “Somehow I doubt it.  My only question to you, Mr. Holt, is this:  when I am murdered by your witness, will the price be worth it?”

“Mr. Jensen…” the judge said, tapping his gavel sharply.  “That is quite enough.”

Clay took a couple breaths to calm himself.  He could feel his temperature rise along with his ire.  “Yes, your honor, it certainly is.”  With that, Clay found his seat.

“I’m told there is one more who wishes to be heard?” the judge said, glancing over at Tony.

“Yes, your honor, there is,” Tony said.  Clay goggled at his friend, and was failing at hiding his surprise.  Undeterred, Tony stepped up to the podium.  “My name is Antonio Padilla.  Clay Jensen is a friend of mine.  Probably my closest friend, in fact.  We have seen a lot in the short span of our lives – happiness, love, heartbreak, anger, rage, injustice, and even death.”  Tony turned to glare at Seth.  “I’ve known people like you, _cabron._   You think that because you have the right connections, can tell the right story, can make the right deals, you are untouchable.  I’ve found that even the most well-connected, most upstanding people can finally end up paying a price.  You started this whole mess by throwing a sixteen year-old kid out of his home and believing that he’d just crawl away and die.  Did it surprise you that he stole from you, so he could survive?”

Clay noticed that Holt was giving Seth the side-eye.  Tony continued.  “That kid you threw out found a new family, got a new start.  And yeah, he’s a bit of an idiot sometimes, but he’s learning. You decided to strike back at him for stealing money by stealing a _person_ – _this_ person, the kid’s adoptive brother.  Clay Jensen did absolutely _nothing_ to you except call Justin Foley his brother and take him in.  He did _nothing_ to you, and yet you kidnapped and abused him – a year’s worth of torment in the span of two and a half days.”

The DEA agents waiting to take Seth into custody were looking uncomfortable as Tony spoke.  “Clay’s had it rough since we rescued him.  He’s had nightmares.  He’s had PTSD flashbacks so bad, he became a target for others to continue his torment.  And yet, here he is, telling you just what assholes you all are.”

“Language, young man!” The gavel pounded as a hushed murmur waved over the sparsely populated courtroom.

“My apologies, your honor.  I’m not as good at speaking as Clay is.  I’m not sure I have another word in my vocabulary that best describes the people that put together this travesty of the justice system.”

“Find one.  Soon.”

“Yes, your honor.”  Tony cleared his throat.  “Clay’s right, though.  Once that man steps out of here, all he has to do is wait.  All he has to do is wait to exact revenge on two guys in their mid-twenties; one for standing up to a monster and the other for having a reckless idiot for a brother.  And that’s not including what he threatened to do to me when I helped to rescue Clay from his clutches.  Or our other friends who got him caught.”  The teen paused, and the silence was enough to suffocate a man.  “I, too, hope that you find yourself at someone’s mercy while in prison.  I hope that you truly _understand_ what you put Clay through – both in the moment, and for the rest of your life.”  Tony turned back to face the judge.  “Thank you, your honor.” With that, he sat down next to Clay, who smiled faintly.

Across the divide, Seth continued to lounge in his chair, acting as though he were being sent to a day spa rather than a federal prison.  The smile that was plastered on his thin face pissed Clay off to no end.

“Thank you, gentlemen, for your words.  They’ve given me something to think about, if nothing else.”  The judge then told Seth to stand, and he did so.  “Seth Griffith, you are hereby sentenced to five years in a federal prison, after which you will be conditionally released to the custody of the DEA to assist them in their endeavors.  If you do not satisfactorily complete the terms of this agreement, you will be remanded to a federal prison for a term of no less than twenty-five years and no longer than the course of your natural life.  Is this understood?”

Seth didn’t even blink.  “Yes, your honor, it is.”

“So ordered.”  The judge rapped his gavel, and the courtroom cleared.  In the lobby, Clay found Tony talking with the lawyer Holt.  A moment later, he walked over to his friend.  “Sorry, Clay,” Tony said, dusting his black jeans with his hands. 

“What were you talking about?”

“Oh, that,” Tony said, fighting the urge to run a hand through his perfectly gelled hair.  “My brother Javi was curious as to what prison that asshole would end up in.  I guess he’s in California for about two months before a spot opens up in Arizona.”  He smiled.  “I guess he’s going to San Quentin.  Shame.  Terminal Island would have been better, no?”

Clay smiled.  “Yeah.  Tough luck.”  He heaved a sigh of relief.  “I’m glad that’s over.”

“Me too.  I wonder how the board meeting is going?” Tony pulled out the keys to his Shelby, which the pair had driven in.  It was starting to look like the classic car it promised to be, and the ride had been a little bumpy but worth it.  “What say we find out?”

“Let’s,” Clay agreed.  “I’d rather focus on something we _can_ fix.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note: this chapter takes place immediately after the last one, so it is still April 7th.

“Man, Clay, you missed it,” Justin chortled as he swept his brother into a giant hug.  It was still taking Clay a little time to get used to the fact that he now had a younger brother that _hugged_ everyone constantly.  As the pair sat, along with their parents and friends, Justin immediately launched into his story about how the school board meeting went.  “I mean, everyone was _awesome_.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Alex said, reveling in the fact that there was actual carbs and sugar in the meal set before him.  He took a bite of fettuccini alfredo and hummed happily to himself.  “I mean, the minute your mom started talking about lawsuits that entire board sat up and took notice.”

“ _Serious_ notice,” Jessica said, wedged between Alex and Zach.  Her mixed green salad was sparkling with Italian dressing as she twirled her fork.  “I’m pretty sure that fat old guy was about to have a heart attack.”

“I suppose being told that they’d all be party to a massive lawsuit and possible criminal charges can have that effect,” Lainie said, trying and failing to keep an impartial face.  “Especially when we have proof of the culture of bullying and violence at that school.”

“You got lucky, Lainie,” Matt cautioned.  “If that Christopher kid hadn’t been filming…”

“Yeah, we seriously owe him, like, big time,” Zach agreed.  He was demolishing a plate of fried kalamari as he spoke.  “He seems like a pretty decent kid, really.”

“Oh, he is,” Justin said.  “I know Scotty has been hiring him to do demo tapes for the baseball team, so they can get a few scouts interested.  Kinda sucks that they had to forfeit their whole season this year.”

“Not if it means they got rid of that jackass they had,” Zach countered.  “I mean it.  When Coach Rick basically tried blackmailing me into covering for Bryce… I mean, that was _it._ And I told him so.”

“He blackmailed you?” Tony said, his eyebrow quirking up.  Next to him, Caleb settled comfortably into his plate of chicken marsala, his ears also tuned in.  “How’s that, Dempsey?”

“Ahh, he tried making me feel bad that I was turning my back on ‘family’ after he’d helped me after my dad died,” the athlete explained.  “That was when I knew he was a piece of shit.  I mean, you help someone through stuff like that because you care about them, not to use as leverage later, right?”

“Agreed,” the teenagers at the table murmured. 

“You’re better off,” Alex said, patting his best friend on the shoulder, if awkwardly due to his injuries.

“So, that was it?  I mean, they just caved like _that_?” Clay asked.  “I mean, I thought they’d fight us on this.”

“Well, they bitched a little about the colors,” Alex said.  “Complained that it cost money to change the ‘identity of a school’ and some bullshit.”  He grinned.  “To which I said that it would cost more when people started pulling their kids out of Liberty altogether and sending them to charter schools and whatnot.”

“Oh, the look on that woman’s face when he did,” Matt said, smiling.  “And I was ready to state that I would be the first to pull my sons out if they _didn’t_ change the colors.”

“Hollow threat, Matt,” Justin.  “Considering your sons are both seniors.”

“Sometimes it’s about making a statement,” the father of two countered.  “Speaking of which…how did your statements go, Clay?  Tony?”

Clay shrugged.  “About as well as you’d expect.  I got to tell that asshole and those who gave him that bullshit deal what I thought.  Not that it did a lot of good.”

“Hey, yeah, you never said,” Jessica said, putting down her fork.  “What did that guy end up getting?”

“Not enough,” Tony said before Clay had a chance to utter a sound.  “Five years, and then he has to become an informant for the feds.  ‘Conditional release’, they called it.  If he doesn’t produce or disappears, he has to do twenty-five to life.”

The teens all stared at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.  “No way,” Caleb said, being the first to find his voice.  “Oh my God…that’s terrible!  How messed up is that?!”

“ _Five years_?” Alex nearly shrieked.  “Fuck me.”

“Seriously?” Zach said, dropping his fork in shock.

“So he just gets away with it,” Jessica said.  “Why am I not surprised?”

“Yeah,” Clay said.  “The lawyer for the feds – some guy named Holt – he actually tried to convince me that the deal was in _“the interest of the greater good._ ”  Which is bullshit, and I said so.  I mean, he gets a pass _and_ a chance to kill me later?”  The scowl on the young man’s face grew exponentially as he spoke.  “And Justin?  And for what?”

“Wow.  I never thought of that,” Justin said.  “But yeah, he’d try again.  And next time, he’d just kill us both.”  He turned to his brother, who sat next to him.  “Didn’t you tell them that?”

“Yeah, I did, Justin.  Jesus.” Clay tapped his fingers on the table angrily. “Like it did any good.”

“Clay even pointed out to that lawyer that he’d come after you two,” Tony seconded.  “How’d he put it?  _When I am murdered by your witness, will the price be worth it?”_

Alex scowled.  “What did he say?”

“Nothing.  But the judge chewed him out.  Apparently, it’s not cool to blame the government for condoning murder.” Tony shrugged, taking a bite of his lasagna.  “I told them that the guy was an asshole, and that they screwed up in making the deal.  But whatever, right?   I mean, that _cabron_ acted like he was going to a private resort with hot and cold running senoritas, not prison.”

“The lawyer?” Caleb asked.

“No, the asshole.  Seth.  If I could have, I’d have beaten him to death.”  Tony shook his head.  “You’d have been proud, _amor._ Kept my cool.”

“See?  I know you could.”  The smile on Caleb’s face was enough to light a room.

“So, I guess no one ever said…did we get what we wanted in the board meeting?” Clay asked.

“Oh, yeah,” his mother said.  “The new color scheme is a definite go, the Honor Code revisions will stand and there are now severe consequences if anyone is caught breaking them.”

“Plus, Boland’s out,” Justin said, the smile on his face big enough to eat a small country.  “They fired his ass during the last minutes of the meeting.”

“Not like that wasn’t expected,” Jessica said.  “Fuck him.  Good riddance.”

A wave of affirmative murmurs seconded her sentiment.  “I wonder who they’ll get now?” Zach wondered.  “I mean, since we know there aren’t gonna be too many looking to take over…”

“And miss out on a chance to rebuild an entire school?  I bet that list is a long as you are tall, dipshit,” Alex said, digging into the oversized banana split he was sharing with Jess.  “The question is, who are they gonna pick?”

“I’m sure they have someone in mind,” Lainie said.  “And they’d better act soon.  I know for a fact that your assistant principal is qualified to fill in for a short-term basis, but she doesn’t have the credits to take the job herself.  They need someone, and fast.”

The rest of the meal was spent discussing old memories and making plans for the graduation season ahead.  It seemed to Clay that his senior year had gone by way too fast, and he needed to make up for lost time. 


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: so...I took a few creative liberties here. I'm not a doctor, a nurse, a med student, or some kind of health care worker (though I did handle a lot of meds and first aid stuff for my school at one time). Also, my knowledge of law is...decent, but limited. ( _Law & Order_ only teaches a person so much.) If there are any inaccuracies, it's because I didn't do a lot of research and well, I kinda wish this would happen to Seth. Please enjoy!

**May 25th**

Eight more days.

Only eight more days, and then it was a free pass to an easy pen in Arizona.

Seth smiled as he sat in the corner of the exercise yard at San Quentin Federal Penitentiary, just outside of San Francisco.  The warm California sunshine washed over him as though he were sitting under a waterfall, and he relished these last few days of blissful climate.  Arizona was hotter than a bitch, and even though people claimed it was a ‘dry heat,’ it still sucked ass.  Plus, he’d heard the pen he was getting transferred to near the Mexican border was smack in the middle of desert country. Fuck his life.  An easier pen, but god-fuck-awful weather, especially the high temperatures. 

_Kinda like the asshole’s brother,_ he thought.  A stray memory of an eighteen-year-old practically melting in a dark, cramped room, barely able to stand or speak from dehydration floated through his brain.  He snorted.  _At least_ I’ll _get air conditioning.  Wouldn’t do to kill a_ valuable _informant._

Seth smiled at that.  The law had him dead to rights for kidnapping and torture on the asshole’s brother – Jensen, he thought the name was – and he’d managed to let slip he’d worked for the Carrero cartel a couple years back.  The second he’d dropped the name he had no less than _three_ government agencies eating out of his hand.  It sucked that he had to do a little time; _nominal_ time, the lawyers had called it, because wouldn’t you know, there was a thing against terrorizing and almost killing kids.

A head of wild sandy curls shook as a pair of eyes closed against the sun.  It would have been nice to get the money he’d demanded for the kid.  He knew that little fucker, Amber’s bastard, had found himself a decent family, and with decency usually came money.  Well, look at the kid’s friend – now, that was something!  Seth had staked out the bastard once, when he claimed to be staying with his rich friend… _Bruce?  Boris?  No, fuck,_ Bryce… _rich uppity name, go figure._ He’d gotten a look at the kid – handsome, smooth, no wonder his family was rolling in it.  _Must be nice._

Vacant eyes scanned the exercise yard.  Then Seth smiled.  He gave a beckoning wave to a Hispanic man nearly jogging towards him.  “Rolando!” he called, greeting the man warmly.  “Things are good?”

“Oh, better than good, _ese,_ ” the tall, skinny man said, his hands twitching a little.  Rolando plonked himself next to Seth, taking up a fraction of a space at the steel bench he occupied.  Then he whistled, and Seth saw two other men come forth, both sizably bigger men than his current compatriot.  “Must be counting the days, eh?”

“Yeah.  Can’t wait to get back to it,” Seth agreed.  As far as everyone in San Quentin knew, Seth was simply on transfer to another prison.  “Laundry’s a bitch everywhere, y’know.”

“Change of scenery must be nice, though.”  Both men stared out across the yard.  It was surrounded by miles of barbed wire, fencing, and electric current.  Beyond that was nothing but flat, dead expanse.  “Even if the weather will suck.”

“Don’t we know it.  You, ah, talk to that guy, Rolando?  The one that…?”

Rolando nodded a sharply angular head, his tight black curls nearly painted on.  _“Si. Senor_ Carlos is expecting you very shortly.  He’s _muy_ interested in what you have to offer.  Expansion…” At this, a long, thin hand waggled a little.  “…it is tricky, no?”

“Damn straight.”  Seth relaxed.  Rolando’s men stood just off to the left of them, just a step away.  It felt good, to have some privacy.  In a place like San Quentin, privacy was worth more than cash or cigarettes. 

“ _La familia,_ they know of your move?”

“Nah.  Don’t have one.  Waste of time, you ask me.  Shacked up with enough whores and junkies with kids.  Little assholes, all of them.”

Rolando shook his head.  “Family, it is everything.  The ones we have, the ones we make…” A tongue clacked against ruined teeth.  “It is everything.  _Senor_ Carlos, he is very much about family.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Seth said.  He didn’t like where this conversation was heading.  “So, about the Northern Cali areas…”

“You are here for killing a child, no?”

“Eighteen-year-old brat, and no, he’s still breathing.  Took him, fucked him up a little.”

“Badly?”

“Hey, look, is this some kind of proposition?  Cause I gotta say, I’m not bitin’.”  Seth stood, and Rolando’s men took a step nearer.  Feeling a chill crawl up his back, he wisely settled back into his seat.  Fear was a decent motivator.  Seth feared losing out on his deal if he fucked up this conversation.  Carlos Escamilla was a powerful figure in the Carerro cartel, and if Seth wanted to get into Jose’s good graces, he needed to make friends with the consigliore first.

“No, no, no proposition,” the Mexican soothed.  “But _Senor_ Carlos, he takes family seriously.  Apparently, a close friend of his has a nephew…who has this friend, some white kid the nephew thinks the world of.  Family is family, and it turns out, the kid lives up your way.  Northern Cali, _si?”_

“Yeah.”  Seth _definitely_ didn’t like where this was going.  He racked his brain to think of another kid other than Amber’s bastard or his stuck-up brother that he’d fucked over recently.  None came to mind.

Rolando’s men drew closer.  The chill down Seth’s back turned to ice.

“Nasty case, I hear.  _Gringo_ kid, he’s got serious mental issues from being attacked.   Now, me, I didn’t know why _Senor_ Carlos would stick out his neck…”

Seth never saw it coming.  There was a flash of silver, a searing pain, a thick wetness where a certain part of him used to reside.  Before he could scream, they reached into his mouth.  Pain flared, but no intelligible words came out.

“…but then he told us the story.  If there’s one thing he hates more than traitors, it’s those who go after family.  Today is not your day, is it, _ese_?”

With that, the Mexicans took their leave.  Seth lay curled onto the ground, wracked with pain, screaming for help but only raw sound escaping his throat.  His hands reached for genitals that has since vanished.  A dark red stain covered the spot where they used to hang.  After a few minutes, a guard noticed and an alarm was raised.

“The fuck happened here?” the guard shouted, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding.

Seth spoke, but no words came out.  Blood poured from his mouth.

“Oh, Jesus H. Christ!  Mac, get an ambulance!”

* * *

 

**May 27th**

It was a small gathering at the Jensen house.  There had been a dance, but, given the events of the last one that the seniors of Liberty High had attended, Clay Jensen had wisely decided to hold a party at home instead.  _“Not like any gun-toting psychos will bother to come by, right?”_ he’d joked.

The guests were comfortably into their second round of soft drinks (no one was drinking that night, a first for their group) when Clay’s phone rang.  “Who is it, Jensen?” Justin catcalled, his arm in midswing as he prepared to toss a cornhole beanbag across the yard.

“Dunno,” he said, picking it up.  “Hello?  Yes, this is Clay…oh.”  The little gaggle of friends stopped dead as they heard Clay’s tone change from one of confusion to one of surprise. “I see…well, how did…oh.  _Oh._   He _will?_ ”  Relief washed over Clay’s face, and he watched as his friends’ own visages turned both curious and pensive.  “So he… _wow._   Okay.  Thanks for calling.  Bye.”

“Everything okay, Clay?” Tony asked, walking over to his friend from the table where the Cokes were set up.  Behind him, Caleb sat up in his lawn chair, ears quirked.

“Um…yeah.  That was the federal lawyer, Holt.”

“What now?  He want you to okay giving that asshole a pardon or something?” Justin scowled.  He came over towards his brother, ready to offer solace if Clay needed it.

“No, uh…he was calling to inform me that Seth had been attacked while waiting for his transfer at San Quentin,” Clay explained.

“Attacked?” Jessica exclaimed.

“How?” Zach wondered.

Clay looked sheepish.  “Apparently, someone…”  He licked his lips, and everyone noticed he was turning an interesting shade of pink.  “… _cuthisballsoff_ , I guess?”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Alex blurted out.  “Someone cut his _balls_ off?”

“…apparently?” The shade of pink turned to scarlet, and it wasn’t from anger.

“Well, either they did or they didn’t, Clay,” Tony argued.  “Which is it?”

Clay sighed.  “Well, the balls were cut off.  I guess... _all_ of it was cut off?  That’s a fact, I guess?" Clay winced as all of the males around him unconsciously tried to protect their own family jewels.  "But, he can’t tell anyone who did it.”

“I’m pretty sure a guy like that asshole doesn’t believe in _omerta_ , Clay,” Alex said drily.

“No, me either.  But I guess he also had his tongue cut out.  They never found it, so no reattachment.  He’ll never say another word again.”

Sheri came up from behind him and wrapped her arms around Clay.  “How are you with this?  Cause I’d be part relieved, and part freaking out.”

“That’s actually why the lawyer called. I mean, bad news, he's gonna live. Good news?  In his...” Clay shrugged.  “…current condition, I suppose, Seth’s useless as a federal informant.  His plea deal got revoked.  He’s doing twenty-five to life.”

A _whoop_ of joy could be heard for a three block radius of the Jensen house.  “Finally!” Jessica chortled.  “Something _finally_ went right for us!”

“I know, right?” Zach said, high-fiving Justin and Alex, a giant grin on his face.  “One less thing to worry about, huh?”

Clay visibly deflated, looking relieved.  “It’s over,” he said.  He looked up at his brother with a watery smile.  “We never have to worry about him again.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all year,” Justin said.

Only Caleb picked up on Tony’s mood.  “Hey, Tony,” he said, careful to keep his voice low.  “You’re not happy about this?”

“Oh, believe me, I am,” Tony said, his voice also low.  “But I have a sneaking suspicion one of my brothers probably helped that along.  Probably Javi.  He likes Clay, and he…”  A pair of lips twisted in a fish face, belying the internal struggle Tony was currently dealing with.  “There’s a few things left in the family closet that don’t really need airing, if you catch me.”

Caleb gave a look to rival Tony’s unhelpful-Yoda visage.  “I do.  And they don’t.  But me, I guess I’d enjoy this one.  Couldn’t have happened to a nicer asshole, I think.”

“You know something?” the Latino man said, looking on as his best friend celebrated the unexpected win in his favor.  “I think so too.”


	47. Chapter 47

**June 2**

 

Clay sat upright on his bed, staring out into space.  His phone lay next to him, as though discarded.  It buzzed an angry sound, demanding to be noticed.

**_Alex:_ ** _so I got a weird call today_

The elder Jensen child shook his head, taking in a long, deep breath.  Did he really know what he was asking?

**_Alex:_ ** _was from mr. porter_

**_Alex:_ ** _reason 13_

Oh, Clay knew.  He remembered well the day Porter got the tapes.  Of all the reasons on Hannah’s list, Porter was the only one who actually seemed sorry…at least, at the time.

**_Alex:_ ** _wants to know if I will talk to a group_

**_Alex:_ ** _about me, and us, and Hannah._

Clay wiped his nose, ignoring the twinging headache forming in the front of his forehead.  Saltwater trickled down his cheeks, carving lines next to his nose, and he let it continue.

**_Alex:_ ** _told him to fuck off_

**_Alex:_ ** _at first_

Alex.  Hannah.  The two stories intertwined.  If Hannah hadn’t…then Alex might not have either.  Clay rested the back of his head against the wall behind him.  Fuck.  The whole thing was one big Gordian knot, peeling worse than an overripe onion. 

**_Alex:_ ** _but now I think it could be good_

**_Alex:_ ** _for all of us_

“Clay?”

The voice crept through the door, softer than kitten fur.  A curly mop of sandy brown hair poked through the entrance, green eyes full of concern.  “You all right?”

Clay heaved a sigh.  “No.  Fucking Alex.”

Justin sat across from him on his own bed, further wrinkling the mass of sheets and blankets that lay half-piled on top of the newer mattress.  He bit his lip.  “I dunno.”  Thin shoulders shrugged.  “I mean, yeah, Hannah’s whole thing was a shitshow, from start to finish, and I helped fuck a lot up for…”

“…for a whole fucking lot of people,” Clay finished.  He sat up.  “I know.  But so did Jess.  And Zach.  And Tyler and Courtney and Ryan and all the rest.”  Blue eyes narrowed.  “ _Especially_ Bryce.”

Justin stared at his brother nervously.  “I know I was a fuck-up, Clay.  Goddamn, I was a colossal fuck-up.”

“No argument here.” 

“But see, that’s the thing.  I know that _now._   I know what I did was wrong _now._   Fuck, I actually suggested we _kill_ you, just to shut you up!”

That stopped Clay cold.  “You… _what?_ ”

Justin shrugged, staring at the floor.  “I was fucked up.  Stupid.  Desperate to keep what I _thought_ was a good life.”  He raised his head suddenly, staring his brother dead in the eyes.  “And that’s the thing.  Without Hannah, without her doing what she did…I’d still be that asshole.  Bryce and half the baseball team would still be fucking girls up _and_ over.”  Justin rose, standing his full five feet ten inches of height.  “I’d still be getting the shit kicked out of me by the likes of Seth.”

Clay stared.  “If Hannah hadn’t…she’d still be here.  I could have tried to make things better.  I could have done _something_.”

“Or not.”  Justin flopped back onto his bed.  “You could still be a wallflower. Some _nobody_ that thinks nothing will get better.”

Clay stared, puzzled.  “What?”

“I mean, let’s face it.  Because of Hannah, you became a badass.”

“I am hardly a badass.”

Justin smirked.  “Okay, so.”  He began to count off on his fingers.  “You got Bryce to admit to raping Hannah, and others.”

“Vaguely.  Not admissible in court.” Clay scowled at that memory.  "Plus, I got the shit kicked out of me, remember?"

“You convinced Jess to tell her story.”

“A lot of fucking lot of good _that_ did.  He still got off.”

Now Justin chortled.  “Bryce has to register as a sex offender, Clay.  Did you know that?”

“No.”  Clay’s face brightened with curiosity.  “I mean, how?  Wasn’t he…”

“Yeah, but there’s some glitch in the law that states he still has to, even if he has the record sealed.  Lainie explained it to me a few months ago, just before I had mine sealed.  Being on that list limits you, Clay.  Makes people think twice about you for a lot of things.”

“Huh.” A hand flipped through a head of short dark hair.  Clay inhaled noisily. “Still…not a huge deterrent when you have a huge trust fund.”

Justin shrugged.  “You saved me.”  A shy smile crept over a diamond face, and his head tilted towards the floor again.  “From being homeless, from being an addict…”  He sighed.  “From being Amber.”

Clay paused a moment.  “It was a means to an end,” he admitted.  “One that worked out better than I thought?”

The younger Jensen child smiled.  “And you were able to help save yourself from being murdered.  By the asshole who kidnapped you, no less.”

Thoughts of that _place_ …  The splintered wood, the extreme fucking _heat_ , the broken glass, the snarling dogs, the drugs that made him weak and defenseless _..._ It all threatened to overwhelm Clay.  A moment later, he felt a hand rubbing circles against his taut back, relaxing muscles coiled tighter than a box spring.  “I had help,” Clay said, looking at his brother.  “So much help…”

“And _that’s_ what Alex means, I think,” Justin said.  “Without Hannah, for good _or_ bad, none of this would have happened.  I mean, I can’t speak for you, but I have a better family.  Parents that actually give a shit about me.  Fucking awesome friends.  And most importantly, I have a _real_ brother.  One that actually gives a fuck about what’s best for me and not himself.”  Tears started trailing down Justin’s chin, and it made Clay snicker a little.  “Oh, shut the fuck up,” the younger boy said.  “Like you haven’t been crying too.”

“Fuck you.”  It was now a term of endearment.

Justin dried his face.  “I’m in.  Alex wanted to get some of us to talk about what happened, especially after Hannah.  Maybe Porter’s on to something.  This is a story that needs told – Hannah’s, Alex’s, Jess’s, yours, mine.”

Clay sighed.  “Maybe.”  The thought of talking about his kidnapping terrified him, but… “Let’s do it.”


	48. Chapter 48

**June 5th**

Chris Dallian slumped back into his seat.  The thin, limp noodles that served as his arms found themselves sandwiched between stick-like legs and the bottom of the formica deskplate attached to the aforementioned chair.  Chocolate eyes stared blankly at the sight before him:  his counselor-slash-therapist talking to the small assembled group of misfits and losers he had found himself unlucky enough to be forced to join.  Chris shook his head, mostly to himself.  East County High School was no picnic, given its school population of brainless, juvenile jocks and wannabe gangbangers, but at least this place wasn’t Liberty High.  For an upper-class, fancy-pants school, Liberty High seemed like the biggest shithole of all. 

“Now, I know we’ve been talking a lot in here about _choices_ ,” he heard, watching as the figure of Kevin Porter took center stage.  “Choices we have, choices we make.  Every single thing in our lives is affected by those choices.  _Every single one.”_

“Ain’t like we got a lotta choices ‘round here, boss,” Chris heard Emilio West quip from the back.  A round of smothered giggles washed through the bare classroom.  “Simple.  Join up, follow orders, or get ground down by _“the man”,_ whoever that happens to be at the moment.”

Porter paused, as though giving credence to Emilio’s thought.  Chris chuckled inwardly.  Emilio came from a long line of gangbangers, middle- to low-level men, mostly, and was trying to distance himself from it.  Chris knew that the life had fucked up three of the West brothers.  Two of them were dead from drive-bys, and a third was doing time at Lompoc for dealing.  The problem was, their gang was trying actively to recruit Chris and his fourteen year old brother, citing “family loyalty.”  Rumor had it that Old Man West had been one of the founders of the gang, some forty years prior.

“Or end it,” Samantha Taylor said, her too-quiet voice piercing the air like a surface-to-air missile.  Her bony limbs protruded past the bulky sweater she wore, too warm for the first week of June.  “I mean, look at that Liberty girl, Hannah…something.  She took it until she couldn’t anymore.  Problem solved.”

Chris felt for Samantha.  He knew she was bullied by the older, more popular girls nearly every day.  A few times he’d found her hiding in an empty classroom, tears streaming down her face.  He took her in a little more.  _God, if she’d only realize that she’s beautiful…no matter what that bitch Melinda Jennings and her slut squad thinks…_

“But that’s the thing.  The problem doesn’t really get solved.  Not that way.” 

Every head in Porter’s group snapped up.  That was a new voice.  A new fish, this late in the game?  School ended next week, for Christ’s sake.  Chris scanned the room.  There were a few new faces.  Most were guys.  There were a couple girls – _fine_ ones too, light-skinned like he was.  “Who’re you?” he challenged.

“Alex.”  Thin hands scrubbed at short, spiky blonde hair.  A cane sat next to him.  “Alex Standall.”

“No shit,” Emilio said.  “You’re the one…”

“Yeah.  And I’m here to tell you, offing yourself _doesn’t_ solve the problem.”  Alex bit his lip.  “It causes new ones.  And the old ones?  Those don’t get fixed either.”

“Sure it does,” Samantha countered.  “I mean, that Hannah, she doesn’t have people cutting her down anymore.  No more abuse.  No more looks and catcalls…”

“No more living, either,” another kid said.  “Just a giant, fucked-up mess where Hannah once was.”  This was a short guy, about six inches shorter than Chris himself, with dark hair and icy blue eyes.  “Cause, see, Hannah didn’t realize that people loved her.  Really, truly loved her, and would have been willing to do whatever it took to help her.” The kid’s voice wavered a little, and Chris wondered…did this one have a _thing_ for this Hannah chick?

“Guys, kids suck.  I mean, I should know – I was one of ‘em.”   In the back, another new face stood out – diamond jaw, green eyes, sandy-brown hair that threatened to curl a little.  “And the thing is, I was doing it to hide my _own_ problems.  And I had, like, _a lot_ of them.”

“Bullshit.  What do you know about it, _ese?”_ Emilio scoffed.  “Kid like you, looking like that?  I smell _athlete._   I dunno about where you’re from, but _here_ , athletes get all the free passes.

“Hey, same,” Diamond Jaw said.  “Even more so where we’re from.”

“So who are you to talk?  I mean, one look at you, we know your story.”

Diamond Jaw smirked a little.  The Standall kid and Ice Eyes did too.  So did a Mexican that looked a lot like one of those ‘50s-era greasers and a tall Asian kid sitting next to him.  “Okay,” Diamond Jaw said.  “Try me.”

Emilio leaned back, taking his time.  “I’d say, captain?  Co-captain?  Football, maybe.  You got the size for a quarterback. Those looks?  Girls must be _swarming_ over you.  Or boys…I mean, I’m flexible.”

The smirk didn’t waver.  “Go on.”

“Those threads?  Middle class.  Must be nice.”  Emilio’s shirt was a size too big for him.  His jeans were threadbare in all the wrong places.  Chris knew that Emilio’s mom worked two jobs and got assistance just to make ends meet.  “No worries about paying the bills, then.”

The kid shrugged.  “Anything else?”

“Cocky, _ese._   You got the attitude of a guy with the world at his feet.”  Chris watched as his friend cocked his head a little, a good indication that he was done, and he felt he was accurate in his assessment.

What no one expected, however, was laughter.  Diamond Jaw actually started _laughing._   It traveled over to Ice Eyes, then to Standall, then the others.  “The hell’s so funny?” Emilio spat, turning a darker shade of tan.

The laughter instantly died.  “Dude, I was _homeless._ For _five months_.  Because my birth mother was a fucking junkie, dependent on assholes like herself.  Her even _bigger_ asshole boyfriend nearly strangled me to death before he threw me out of _my own home_.”  The kid paused.  “Yeah, I was that cocky son-of-a-bitch you described, once.  Then I took a picture of a girl, and showed it to the wrong people, and it ruined her reputation.  A-and she was a _nice_ girl.  _I_ did that.”

“Hey, you had help,” one of the _fine_ girls said, a long, lanky number with a voice like a torch singer. “I mean, girls are horrible too.”  She sighed.  “I stole a girl’s only friends, because I thought she was trying to steal a boy I liked.”

“I treated her like an object,” the Standall kid admitted.

“I demoralized her,” the Asian kid said.

“I made her cover up a mistake,” the other fine girl said.  “And it cost someone their life, later.”

“I didn’t listen to her, when she needed a friend to talk to,” the Mexican kid said.  “I had my own issues, and I shut her out.”

“And I didn’t notice,” Ice Eyes said.  “I couldn’t see just how much she was hurting, even though…even though I loved her.”  The look on the kid’s face told Chris everything.

“And that person was Hannah Baker,” Standall said.  “See, we all made choices.  And all those choices…”

“They affected her,” Porter said.  “In ways we couldn’t imagine.”  Christ thought he saw tears in the man’s eyes, but he wisely kept silent.

“I mean, we _all_ fuck up.  I didn’t listen to Hannah, either,” Torch Singer said.  “She tried to tell me something, and I blew her off.  Come to find out, I shouldn’t have.”

“What was it?” Samantha asked.

“She had seen me…being attacked.  By someone I _thought_ was a friend.”

“And you didn’t believe her?”

Torch Singer sighed.  “I was too drunk to piece it together, at the time.  And a part of me…I just didn’t want to believe her.”

Chris noticed as Torch Singer talked, Diamond Jaw got more and more withdrawn.  “What about you?” he challenged.  “You’re looking pretty guilty there…”

“Oh, I am.”  The kid swallowed hard.  “See, Jess was my girlfriend then.  The guy who… _attacked_ her?  He used to be my best friend.”  Piercing green eyes settled on Emilio, and Chris could feel the shiver going up his friend’s spine.  “And I…I didn’t do anything to stop him.”

The room fell silent.  “Why not?” Samantha asked.

The kid’s face contorted into a few unique expressions before settling on contrite.  “My _ex-_ friend?  Richest kid in town.  Exactly as that guy there described – good-looking, charmer, able to convince people of _anything._   But what no one saw was that he was manipulative.  _Extremely_ manipulative.”  Diamond Jaw shook his head.  “I was poor, and stupid, and he gave me what I wanted most – attention, a little financial security, somewhere to stay when things got bad at my place.  I mean, my home life was absolute _shit_ then.  I was _terrified_ that if I said anything, all of that would go away.  And so I didn’t.   And I ruined _three_ lives that night:  Hannah’s, for letting the asshole go, because he eventually raped her too; Jess’s, for not trying harder to stop the asshole who assaulted her, and my own, because I ended up paying for it later.  I had an accessory charge on my record before I had it sealed.  I spent a month in juvie for it too.  Let me tell you this:  if you think committing crimes is going to be your ticket out, think again.  It’s a quick trip to something even worse.”

“Jesus,” Emilio said, giving Diamond Jaw another look.  “How did I fuck that up?  I mean, to look at you…”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Ice Eyes said.  “I mean, I had every right to hate Justin.”  He waved at Diamond Jaw, who waved back.  “He’d fucked up the girl I loved, gotten another girl raped, and just the other day I found out he wanted to actually have _me_ killed just so I’d stop looking into what made Hannah kill herself.”

“Hey, I had a lot riding on keeping those secrets back then, Jensen,” Diamond Jaw – Justin – said.

“So, being homeless was always part of the plan, Justin?” the Jensen kid said. 

Chris remembered _that_ name, vaguely.  The Baker tapes had hit East County about the same time as Liberty High, and he remembered being in awe of the kid who’d gotten the Walker kid to confess. “You’re the guy,” he said.  “On the last tape.  The one getting the shit kicked out of him…”

Slowly, Jensen nodded.  “Not my best moment, but I don’t regret it.”  Then he got serious.  “It was also stupid.  Bryce Walker could have killed me. Hell, I even thought about suicide, a couple of times.”

“Well, why would you?  I remember right, that Hannah chick didn’t blame you for anything.”

“I was…”  The silence hung like a wet blanket.  Even Jensen’s friends were waiting with rapt attention.  “I was fucked up.  I kept hearing about how I’d done some horrible thing to make her choose to kill herself, and then she basically says that she included me because I deserved to know why _she’d_ done it.”  He sniffled, and a hand angrily wiped a tear away.  “I…I _loved_ her, and I never had a chance to show her just how much…”

“Wait,” the Mexican kid said.  “A _couple_ of times?  I mean, I know about the cliff, Clay, but when was the other?  And why was I not there?”

“After Chloe testified, I…got my hands on a gun.”  Clay shrugged.  “I was pretty messed up.”

“ _Pretty messed up?_   Try _homicidal._ ”   Justin shook his head.  “If I hadn’t been there…”

“Yeah, let’s not get into that, shall we?”

“What’d you do with the gun, Clay?”  the Standall kid asked.

“Are you _serious?_ ” Fine Girl #2 nearly shrieked.  “Clay…”

“I got rid of it!  Gave it back to the kid who borrowed it to me for target shooting.  Haven’t touched one since.”  He looked around the room cautiously.  “I promise!”

“New rule:  no guns.  Period,” the Standall kid said.  “I mean, you don’t have enough reminders walking around about what a colossally _stupid_ idea that is?”

“Jesus, Alex,” Clay said.  “I was fucked up.  I wasn’t thinking.”

“Neither was I, when I tried to blow my brains out!”

 _Shit,_ Chris said.  _Rich people are_ really _fucked up!_ Aloud, he said, “So, the cane…”

“I’m hemiplegic.”  At the questioning silence, Alex explained, “One side of my body is fucked up.  Permanently.  Because I felt so guilty about what had happened to Hannah that I thought putting a bullet in my head was the answer.”

“Alex, you basically objectified her with that list.  Where’s the guilt in that?” the Asian kid asked.

“That wasn’t all of it, Zach.  That night, at Bryce’s party…”

“You were there?” Now several of the kid’s friends were curious.

“Yeah.  Playing video games with Montgomery.  Because I, too, was stupid and wanted a rapist to like me.  My dad was giving me such shit at home for being too “soft” and not “like a man.”  So there I was, at the party, listening to what I _thought_ was Bryce having sex in the hot tub.” 

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” the Asian kid – Zach – said. 

“And you pieced this together…” the Mexican wondered aloud.

“After.  You know, _after._   When I heard the tapes.  I realized Monty had lied to me, ‘cause I didn’t actually see what was happening; I just heard it.  And then she killed herself…”  Alex took a breath, and then another.  “The guilt, it was like this all-encompassing weight, crushing me, all the time.  I was getting crap at home.  The people in my life sucked.  And I _knew_ if I’d just gotten my ass up and _looked_ out the damn window…Hannah maybe wouldn’t have killed herself.”

“There’s no way to know that for sure, Standall,” the Mexican kid said.  “I mean, Hannah was pretty intense.  Do I wish I _hadn’t_ seen her being wheeled out of her house on a gurney that day?  Absolutely.  She was my friend.  But Hannah had demons too.”

The East County students sat back in wonder.  “Jesus, and I thought _I_ had it bad," Emilio said.  "You people are fucked up.”

“Yeah, we are.” Justin said. 

“The point is, everyone’s going through shit.  Alex and his dad.  Justin and his shitty home life.  Jess, Sheri, Tony,” Zach said, sweeping a finger at Fine Girl #2 (Sheri) and the Mexican kid (Tony).  Hell, I was dealing with my dad dying in a car accident and a mother who doesn’t show any kind of emotion, like, _ever._   I felt like there was no one I could talk to.  My teammates were assholes.  I wasn’t close with others.  I was able to talk with Hannah, but…I didn’t acknowledge her.  I pushed her away too, to try and keep up a plastic image my mother thought was so fucking important.”

“What, if anything, have any of you learned from Hannah’s suicide?” Porter asked, having just sat back and let the conversation take its natural course.

“Talk to people,” Clay said.  “People help get you out of situations like hers.”

“It’s okay to not be what everyone thinks you have to be,” Zach said.  “And that we shouldn’t be afraid to speak up for ourselves.”

“I’ve learned that friends can come from the most unlikely places,” Tony said.  “Sometimes even the best ones.  But you gotta let them in.”

“Suicide is definitely _not_ the answer,” Alex said.  “All I got was a fucked up body, and more pain.  Clay’s right – talk it out.  Talk to your friends, parents, brothers or sisters, or even a professional.  As much as it sucks, talking helps.”

“I’ve learned that good things can come out of bad ones.  I mean, I’ve been a _colossal_ fuck-up.  To myself and those I loved.  I’ve been dealt one shit circumstance after another.”  Justin looked at Emilio, almost staring the kid down.  “I got girls raped, through inaction.  And I gotta live with that.  I dealt with being homeless because of a sadistic asshole and being a junkie because that was how I learned problems were dealt with.  I contemplated at one time killing the only kid who came looking for me and eventually became my _brother_.  And I kind of laugh a little at that, because God knows anyone who knew us two years ago would tell you that Justin Foley being adopted into Clay Jensen’s family was like, absolutely unheard of.”

“Life’s full of surprises,” Porter said.

“It sure is,” Chris said, surprising his classmates.  As the group prepared to leave, he stopped next to Samantha.  “Um, I wanted to say…”

“Yeah?”

The kid took a deep breath.  “Melinda’s a bitch.  And you’re beautiful.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Well, I know for a fact that Melinda’s between guys, and I want to know if you’d maybe…see a movie with me sometime?”

Samantha looked at him, chewing on her lip a little.  The faint scars that poked over her shirt cuffs were faded, but still looked painful.  “I…I’d like that.”

“Great.  This Friday?”  At Samantha’s quietly enthusiastic smile and sharp nod, Chris left class looking hopeful for the first time in weeks.


	49. Chapter 49

**June 7 th**

“I think he’s having nightmares again.”

Tony heaved a sigh.  “And if he is?  I mean, seriously, Justin.  I’d say after the last two years we’ve all had, the guy’s entitled to a few nightmares, don’t you think?”

Justin’s head shook violently.  “I’m not talking about tossing the bedcovers or a little mumbling, Tony.  Last night he started gasping for air.  As in ‘ _someone choking him’_ kind of gasping.  I thought he was gonna have a heart attack or some shit!”

A tan brow furrowed.  “Choking?”

Justin looked sheepish.  “I… _may_ have some experience with it.  Maybe.”

“Not touching _that_ with a stick, Foley.”  Short fingers drummed nervously against one of Monet’s coffee cups.  “The other day, the air conditioning went out during fourth.”

“Yeah, I remember.  History was a _bitch_.  Especially since Gonzalez won’t open a fucking window.”  Green eyes met brown ones.  “What’s the point?”

“I mean, most of us, we were about ready to put a nudist colony to shame.  Hell, even _I_ lost some threads trying to beat that heat.”  The drumming quickened.  “Clay?  Man, I got a look at his eyes.  It was like they were _dead._   And he was the _only_ one who never moved to try and cool off.”  Tony shook his head.  “I mean, not a _muscle_ twitched.”

“He’s been bitching that it’s too hot lately.  The other day Lainie chewed us out for trying to turn the house into one of those igloo things, like Eskimos?”

“Inuits.”

“Whatever.  Point is, that was when it was only eighty degrees out.”

The pair sat, fiddling with their respective coffees.  “He’s having flashbacks, isn’t he?” Tony asked.

Justin nodded.  “Ever since we did that thing for Porter’s group.  He’s called out a couple of times at night, things I’m not sure I’m supposed to know…”

“Like?” Tony sat, eyes transfixed on his best friends’ brother.

“Something about…” Justin bit his lip.  He sighed. “…being stuck inside his own head?”

“Fuck.”  A scowl crossed the Latino man’s face.  “How far down the Clay-hole did he fall _this_ time?”

Justin shook his head slowly, his fingers now tapping their own rhythm on mass-produced china.  “I think this was more than just Clay being _Clay_ , though.  That statue thing, where he doesn’t move?  He’s been doing that more lately.  Last night he froze up on the couch; Matt almost called the paramedics because he thought Clay’d had a stroke or something.”

“Why now, though?” Tony wondered.  “I mean, that thing for Porter…that was mostly about Hannah, and her drama.  Can’t speak for the rest of you, but I felt… _relieved_ , I guess?  Like by telling others about our shit, we maybe stopped someone else from doing what she did?”

Justin nodded.  “Me too.  I mean, I _never_ would have imagined I’d be where I am two years ago.  Even with all the other bullshit that was my life?” the nod became a headshake.  “Not a chance.  Hell, Seth probably would’ve killed me.”  A small smile pricked up at the mention of his former abuser.  “Knowing he’s suffering as much as I did…as much as he made Clay suffer…yeah, it’s a nice thought.”

“Two years ago, I’d probably have laughed in your face if you told me I’d be sitting with Justin Foley, of all people, discussing the welfare of Clay Jensen.”  Tony smirked a little as he shook his head slowly.  “Man, you were an _asshole_ back then, Foley.”

“I was.  Makes me glad I’m not that asshole anymore.”  Justin heaved a sigh.  “Although, being that asshole would make what I’ve gotta do next a hell of a lot easier.”

“Getting Clay to talk?”

“I’m thinking pulling teeth is probably easier.”

Tony leaned back into his chair, finishing off the last of his drink.  “I may have an idea.  It’s pretty assholish, but I think it might help.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve having Clay committed to a psych ward or hurting himself, I’m in.  If not for his sake, then Matt and Lainie’s.  I know they’ve been up the last couple of nights wondering about him too.”

* * *

 

**June 8th**

“Where are we going?” Clay asked for what felt like the hundredth time.  The familiar streets of Crestmont had dissipated into farmlands, and the stillness was beginning to grate on his nerves.  Coupled with the fact that both Justin (who had arranged this trip) and Tony (who was driving) were not telling him anything, the suspense was about to make his already frayed nerves snap.

The discussion with Porter’s group had been, in a word, liberating.  Like his friends, he too felt that by talking about Hannah’s ordeal and the resulting fallout they’d possibly managed to prevent another such tragedy.  Clay had quietly decided to take some time off school after graduation and focus on talking to more people about the experiences he’d had regarding that horrible junior year.  He’d even taken Porter’s number, though he hadn’t yet called to set anything more up.

 _I wonder if anyone else would come with me,_ he thought as Justin and Tony maintained their wall of silence.  _Maybe Justin, or possibly Alex?  Alex seemed like he got a lot out of that talk as well…_

The newly restored Shelby made a sudden turn off the sparsely-driven road they’d been traveling.  The worn ruts that served as a poor driveway brought a tendril of fear creeping up Clay’s spine and traveling towards his gut.  He shivered, and not from the air conditioning.  “Guys, where are we?”

“Almost there, Clay,” Tony soothed.  “Not much further.”

“Something’s not…turn around.  I don’t…”

“Clay, come on.  We’re…” Justin turned, looking Clay in the eye.  “We’re only trying to help.”

“The fuck is this?  What are you guys _doing?_ ”  Alarm bells were beginning to sound in Clay’s mind, and everything in him was screaming to run for it.

“There,” Tony said.  “Now, don’t get pissed…”

“Get…” Clay’s mouth dropped as soon as the trees and overgrown weeds cleared from view.  He forced himself to breathe as his eyes locked onto the old dilapidated farmhouse he’d once been imprisoned in.

“We’re here,” Justin said softly.  Clay heard his brother taking a breath to steady himself, but it did nothing for his own racing heart. 

 


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter immediately follows the previous one, so it is still June 8th.

 

“Take me home.”

“Clay…”

“Fuck you both!  I mean it – take me the _fuck_ home _right this second!”_

Justin steeled himself, knowing this was one fight he couldn’t withdraw from.  “Clay, I know you’re having flashbacks…”

“So you thought bringing me to my own private house of horrors was the answer?!  Like I don’t see _enough_ of this place in my mind?  Jesus Christ, Justin!”

“Look, just hear me out…”

“No.  No, fuck you.”  Clay turned to Tony.  “Take me home.  Now.”

“Clay, I really think you should hear him out.”

“Fuck.  Not you too!”  Clay’s hands flew to his face as he cradled his head in them.  He fell back against the hood of the Shelby, using it as a poor excuse for a seat.  “This is…” He shook his cradled head.  “This is _not_ happening.”

Justin cautiously settled on the hood next to Clay, noting sadly that his brother immediately shied away from his presence the moment his backside made contact with the warm metal of the car.  “Walk me through it, Clay.”

“Through _what_?  My nightmares?”  Blue eyes latched onto green ones, and the look on Clay’s face could have melted lead.  “Like you don’t have enough of your own from that asshole?  I mean, do you see me hauling you to your old place, asking you to describe what if felt like to get the shit get kicked out of you?  Or driving you to that squat in Oakland, and asking for pointers on how to survive being homeless?”

Justin flinched at the last one.  “Clay, you _saw_.”

“I didn’t see what it was like for _you._ ”

“Fair point,” Justin conceded.  “But you’ve got an idea.  You want to know?  Okay.  My experiences with Seth were probably a lot like yours.  Ordered me around.  Roughed me up. Cut me down every chance he got.”

Clay turned his head as he shuddered.  “I didn’t get a lot of talking.  More like barking.  Yelling.”

“Like I said, pretty close.”  Justin heaved a sigh.  “I had to listen to him beat the shit out of Amber.  I felt like I had to walk on fucking eggshells _in my own home._ Because Seth just moved right in and took over.  I didn’t get a choice in the matter.”  He caught Clay’s eye. “The day those people tried to serve me papers, Seth grabbed me by the throat and pinned me up against the wall.  Only the thought of the neighbors calling the cops stopped him from actually killing me.”

“Shit.”

“The thing is, Clay,” Justin continued, “I don’t need to be there to talk about it.  You saw Amber’s old place – the one I got thrown out from.  That was pretty much what all of her places looked like.”

Clay’s gaze flickered on the dilapidated buildings surrounding him, then turned back to Justin.  His breaths grew more labored, and the heat made him uncomfortable.

“We’re just trying to see what it was like for you, Clay,” Tony chimed in.  “I mean, we see the _effects_ , but…”

“It’s hard to know how to help if you won’t talk and we don’t have any idea what happened," Justin added.

“You know enough.  Seth kidnapped me.  Starved me, nearly boiled me alive.  Drugged the shit out of me so I couldn’t run.  Kept me prisoner with a lot of mindfuck and a good solid lock on the door.”  Clay’s gaze cast over towards a set of fences towards the back of the main house.  “Nearly fed me to vicious, probably rabid dogs.”

“The last three nights you’ve frozen up.  And I mean, the other night your dad nearly called an ambulance because he thought you had a stroke.”  Justin threw his head back.  “I mean, is this a pretty fucked-up think to do to you?  Yeah, probably.  But Clay, you won’t let us _help_ you…”

“I’m not crazy.  I’m _not!_ ”

“No one said you were crazy!”

The silence that fell was only broken by the sounds of insects making themselves known.  Justin looked helplessly at Tony, who shrugged.  “What’s bothering you, Clay?  What’s making you freeze up like that?”

Clay’s mouth never moved.  “The heat,” he said, almost inaudibly.  Then he heaved a breath and started walking toward the door of the main house.

Puzzled, Justin and Tony followed.  They crossed the rotting threshold, noting a faint glimmer of something shiny dotting the floor.  Clay stopped.  “This was full of glass,” he said.  “Piles and piles of broken glass.”

The room was about eight by twelve.  Justin tried to imagine a coating of sharp glass covering the worn floorboards.

“And I was barefoot,” Clay added. 

Now Justin understood.  Trying to run across a thick carpet of splintered glass without any protection on his feet?  It would be like cutting them _off._

Clay passed an overturned chair.  Justin remembered it as being the one Clay had been forced to record that horrible ransom note from.  He never broke stride until he entered a narrow hallway and turned sharply to the right.  “Right here,” Clay said, refusing to move an inch further.  “See for yourself.”

Jaw set, Justin opened the thick door and was assaulted by the wall of heat that escaped from the room.  It was enough to knock both him and Tony nearly over.  “Jesus,” he sputtered. 

“Now try being trapped in _that._   No windows to open.  No breaks.  No relief.  The little bit of water I _did_ get I had to ration very, very carefully.”

“That _asshole,_ ” Justin spat

“How much is ‘a little,’ Clay?” Tony asked.

Clay shrugged.  “Like so,” he said, holding his hands about six inches apart, and then miming a height of about six inches.  “A few swallows worth, that’s all.  He let it be refilled once, _maybe_ twice.”

The heat was starting to get to Justin, and he’d been in the room all of about five minutes.  Not to mention, the door was wide open, allowing it to escape.  “Fuck me.”

“The last time, after I made the video?  He put those drugs in it.”  Clay shuddered.  “I already couldn’t move from the dehydration and heat, and then he dopes the shit out of me on…I don’t fucking know.  I never asked.”

“The doctor said it was a cocktail of depressants and paralytics,” Justin remembered.  A hand reached up to his forehead to wipe the sheen of sweat off of it.  “It was one of the reasons you couldn’t move very much when we got you.”

“Yeah, well, imagine being hopped up on all _that_ and then being dragged out of here.  He had two of his ‘employees’ haul me out.  I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t think…hell, I could barely _talk._ ” 

“ _Jesu Christo,”_ Tony cursed in the language of his house.

“Ever since we talked to Porter’s group, I’ve felt…better.  Like I could finally put Hannah to rest, and all of the bullshit that came with it.  But lately, with the heat wave…”  Clay swallowed, hanging his head a little.  “…I’ve been back _here.”_

“Yeah, about that.  Let’s go back outside.  I’m about to melt.” Tony pulled a little at his signature leather jacket, and Justin resisted the urge to pull off the thin overshirt he’d thrown on that morning. 

The second fresh air hit his face Justin felt relieved.  “God, Clay,” he said. 

“Over there,” he said, pointing at what looked like an old tool shed.  “He sicced those dogs of his on me.  I had managed to get out of that hellhole only once, just after he made me make that first video.  He’d given me a cheap pair of flip flops to get _to_ the chair, and my hands were bound behind me.  I ran like hell…but the dogs were _fast._ ”

“Fuck me,” Tony spat.  “But they didn’t find any bites on you…”

Clay nodded towards the shed.  “I managed to climb up that old truck and get on the roof of the shed.  I lost the shoes as I ran.  And then…then that asshole left the dogs to ‘guard’ me all night, while it rained!”

Justin cursed under his breath.  If he thought Seth wasn’t suffering enough in his current condition, he put the thought to rest now. “So did he let you down?” he asked.

“Yeah, in the morning.  And then he made me walk over some of that glass on the floor.”  Clay sighed.  “You’d think broken glass would bother me, but nope.  Heat, dogs, the _sound_ of glass breaking and being touched.”  He shivered.  Then he rounded on his companions.  “Are we done?”

Justin nodded.  “Yeah, we are.”  Then he tentatively put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Clay didn’t shy away from the touch.

“Feel any better?” Tony asked as the three headed towards the Shelby.

Clay hesitated.  “Surprisingly, yeah.  Like a little bit of weight’s off my chest.”

“Good,” Justin and Tony said simultaneously. “Owe me a Coke,” Justin quickly said.

“Damn it.” Tony’s smile spoke volumes.   So did the look of calm on Clay’s face.  It was the best thing Justin had laid eyes on in a long while.


End file.
